


All We Are Turns To Dust

by Lavendergaia



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire Slayer, Canon-Typical Violence, Evil Grant Ward, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, The FitzSimmons Network, more than 5k
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-23 17:53:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4886137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavendergaia/pseuds/Lavendergaia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After moving to California in search of a new beginning, Slayer Jemma Simmons finds herself with a new Watcher, a new roommate, and a new enemy intent on ensuring that this new beginning will be her last. </p>
<p>A Fitzsimmons "Buffy: The Vampire Slayer" AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Losing It All On My Own

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SuburbanSun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuburbanSun/gifts).



> Darling Amy, here is the first part of your fic! I hope that you like it!!
> 
> Thank you to Aislinn and Ruth for betaing and to both of them and Maggie for listening to me rant about this fic for the last thousand years. <3

The rain was beginning to come down hard outside, large drops hitting the bay window like bullets. Tucking her blanket tighter around herself, Jemma chewed on the pen cap tucked neatly on the back of her ballpoint. The stormy weather was rare and the sound of thunder was making her a bit homesick. A wave of nostalgia washed over her as she smiled at the Intro Chemistry text she was perusing for the class she was teaching the next day; it reminded her of her first PhD, back when she was young and things had still been simple.

A sharp rap on the door interrupted the steady peace of the night. Climbing off the couch, she opened the door to find a slightly soggy Fitz. He held two large plastic bags in one hand and his briefcase—overstuffed as usual—in the other. An umbrella was nowhere to be seen. Doing a poor job of stifling her giggles, she said, “I think it might be raining out.”

Water dripped off the end of his nose and on to his sweater. “Figured that out for myself, thanks.” Scoffing, he shook his head, muttering under his breath, “California, I bloody swear. Doesn’t rain for a thousand days, then the one day you say you might go do your damn job… Could kill vampires by making them breathe the air, it’s so bloody dry out…”

Jemma laughed, both at his annoyance and at him thinking she had ever planned on going patrolling with him. “Don’t think I’m gonna go out tonight, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Yeah, it is all the same, it’s been all the same since we got here,” he said, a bit of heat to his tone. He grumbled something about how she never would have said that to Coulson and Jemma couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Not waiting for an invitation he would never receive, he pushed past her into the apartment and set his briefcase down next to the couch. She could hear the heavy books within it clunk together. “Luckily, I brought other important things.”

Heaving an exaggerated sigh, Jemma was about to question the nature and importance of whatever was in that bag when she caught sight—and smell—of the plastic bags again. “What else have you got there?”

Fitz raised his eyebrows with an overly innocent expression. “Oh, this? Just food from that Chinese place you like so much.”

“Sesame chicken?”

“From what I’ve been told, more than one human being should eat.” He shrugged nonchalantly and took a step towards the door. “But if you want me to leave...”

“Now, now, let’s not be hasty.” She put her hand on his chest, and it was all that much easier to feel his racing heart with his sweater soaked through. This was all part of the usual dance they did: Fitz begging her to patrol, Jemma refusing for one perfectly good reason or another, and the two of them settling down for some sort of takeaway food. There were a lot of places open late close to the university, hoping to capitalize on the student population, but it also worked out well for a Slayer and her overly annoyed Watcher.

Fitz had already climbed on to the couch, sitting in his normal spot and unloading the food on to the coffee table. After dropping by the kitchen to get them some beers, she left them in the living room and disappeared into her bedroom, reappearing momentarily with a thick, warm sweater and a small hand towel. “Here,” she said. She handed the sweater to Fitz as she sat on the couch across from him.

Eyeing the sweater carefully, he said, “This is mine.”

“Might have stolen it from you.” She might have worn it around the apartment on days when she needed a reminder of home, turning up the air conditioning and wrapping herself in the thick knit of his sweater. The arms were a bit too long and the weave was beginning to loosen in places, but it smelled better than any piece of clothing she owned and there was nothing in which she liked to sleep in more.

Fitz harrumphed in mild annoyance. There was a moment of hesitation before he took his wet sweater off, shaking his hair out. It was impolite to stare, but Jemma couldn’t help but eye him appreciatively as he took the small towel from her hands, wiping down the lingering water from his bare torso before he pulled the dry sweater on over his head. Once the distracting expanse of his skin was gone, Jemma took the towel from him, running it over his head with particular force. It sent his curls every which way, creating an impressive halo of cowlicks. “There,” she said with a note of pride. “All done.”

The roll of his eyes didn’t cover his smile as he got up from the couch to hang his sweater and the towel on the hooks by the door. Jemma was fairly sure only the combined power of the air conditioning and the grace of god would dry them out. Acknowledging her good deeds, she dove happily into the Chinese food, moving her laptop and textbooks to the far side of the table so she could spread out the Styrofoam containers across the front of the glass table.

As he had promised, there was one container filled with only sesame chicken—it probably wasn’t healthy for her to envision eating all of it, but she probably could have. _Especially after a good patrol_ , an annoyingly accurate voice in her head said. As a peace offering, she set the sesame chicken in the middle of the table so they could share before unloading pork fried rice, egg rolls, shrimp and broccoli (undoubtedly for her), and barbecue spare ribs (undoubtedly for Fitz).

After splitting her chopsticks and opening her beer, she said, “I thought you’d be here earlier. You texted that you were on your way like an hour ago.”

“Meant to be,” he mumbled. As he tucked into his spare ribs, he said, “I had just ordered the food and gotten in the car to get it when I heard something on the police scanner—”

“Ugh,” she said, rolling her eyes and then making a noise of delight as she found a small container of crab Rangoon. “I still think it’s a bit creepy that you have that and listen to it all the time.”

“You’re the one who always says, and I quote, ‘Find me something to slay, Fitz, and I’ll slay it.’ Obituaries take too long.” He picked up his beer, draining half of it in one breath. “They found a body.”

Her stomach dropped and she wondered if she’d ever be used to hearing those words. She traced the mouth of her beer bottle with her thumb, licking her lips. “What kind of body?”

“White female, early 20s.”

Chewing on the inside of her cheek, Jemma raised her eyebrows at him. “Did they say anything else?”

“Not really, they weren’t overly chatty on it. It had already been raining a while when they found her body. No idea how long she’s been there, M.E. hadn’t gotten there yet.” Running his hand through his hair, he said, “They said…they said there was no blood.”

“Rain probably washed it away,” Jemma mused, trying to keep her voice light as her mind raced. She took a sip of her drink and hoped the alcohol would help the churning in her stomach.

“In her. There was no blood left in her,” he said through gritted teeth. She had known what he’d meant. “Even the idiot cops who found her body could tell, it was all they wanted to talk about on the radio. She was covered in mud, so there were no visible puncture marks on her, but…but whatever vampire did this didn’t even think they had to cover up the fact that they had drained her.”

Jemma closed her eyes, unable to keep her subconscious from flicking through the pictures of young bodies she had seen in similar states, the hundreds of victims whose families would never have answers. “They get hungry. They get hungry and they get cocky.” A new imagine came to mind and tears pricked at her eyes.

His gaze flicked to her and he nudged her knee, then pointed to the sesame chicken with his chopsticks. “You hate when it gets cold,” he reminded her. Nodding, she picked up a few pieces of the chicken, eating them one by one. It was, at least, delicious, the flavor of the chicken ridding her of the awful taste in her mouth. Reaching for an egg roll, Fitz said, “What are we going to do?”

“Do you have any more information?” she said, tapping her chopsticks together.

“Not much. Mostly speculation. They said they thought she’d been there for a few days, probably buried, but the rain had washed it away—no way to really tell on that without the autopsy and further investigation after the rain stopped.”

He looked at her keenly and she picked up a crab Rangoon, eating it slowly. “What do you want me to do, Fitz? I don’t have anything to go on other than the fact that a vampire killed her. I don’t know who she is, where she hangs out, how long she’s been dead. What kind of expectations do you have of me?”

His lips were a hard line on his face as he picked at his beer bottle, shredding the paper. “I don’t know. Once we know more, we’ll have more of an idea.” He took a hard gulp of beer, shrugging nonchalantly. “But maybe if you hadn’t been avoiding your job for the last few months, it wouldn’t be such a big deal now.”

She stared at him in shock, despite knowing his words to be true. “So it’s my fault that this girl died?”

“No, I—that’s not what I meant, of course not.” He ran his hands through his hair with a sigh. “Jemma, you’re the Slayer. I’m your Watcher. There’s not much I can really do. You’re the one with the enhanced strength, you know? I can spot you when you’re lifting weights, but that’s about it. Probably why they call us Watchers.”

Smiling despite herself, she tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear, specifically avoiding his gaze. “I know, Fitz. I know it’s my…my destiny and my duty and all that.”

“It’s more than that, though, it’s it?” he said. The question hung in the air for a minute as Jemma herself wondered what the answer was. Eventually, Fitz cleared his throat. “People need you, Jemma.”

Nodding to herself, she picked at the sesame chicken, pushing them around the container. “I know. If I’m not doing my responsibilities as a Slayer, young girls die.”

There wasn’t anything he could say to refute that and he gaped at her for a moment before trying to change the subject. “Uh, I got some books for research.” He opened up his briefcase, stacking the thick tomes on the coffee table just behind the food. “Had to go to a few different libraries. Did you know the one on campus had almost nothing that I needed?”

Quirking an eyebrow at him, she said, “Caltech had no information about vampires? Who would have thought?”

Deliberately ignoring her, he said, “But I went to the county library and one of the librarians is actually from around here. She told me about local urban legends, like the Suicide Bridge and the Haunted Forest, and she gave me all of those books to check out.” He nodded to the stack. “She was quite helpful, really. I guess nothing in this area is as haunted as places in LA or the missions you can find throughout the state, but there is a Pasadena Paranormal Research Society.”

Jemma snorted. “There is not.”

“They have a website.” Fitz grinned slowly. “Perhaps we should introduce ourselves.”

“Oh, let’s not.”

“I bet they could tell us all about where to find the vampires.”

“Mmm, somehow I doubt it.”

Fitz licked his bottom lip, then settled his hand against the side of her neck, his thumb stroking slowly her jaw. “Jemma, I…” He trailed off and any words she could have said back to him were stuck in her throat as she stared into his eyes. Her heart was racing, and she couldn’t understand why people claimed that blue was a calming color.

Before either of them could think of anything to say, there was the sound of a key in the door. Fitz’s hand fell from her face and Jemma turned to face her roommate as she came in. “Oh, hello, Skye.”

Skye shook out water droplets from her long hair. “Hey, Jemma. Hey, Professor.”

“Did you have a good night?”

“Mostly,” she said, hanging her key up on the hooks Jemma had placed next to the door. “You know uh…” She ruffled through the half of the dining room table that was her dumping ground for mail, textbooks, and papers, finally finding a wrinkled flier. “Hannah Hutchins?” A picture of a smiling blonde girl captioned HAVE YOU SEEN ME stared at Jemma and she nodded. “Yeah, well, they found her body.”

Next to her on the couch, Fitz stiffened. Jemma thought she was going to be sick. “They…they did?” she whispered.

Skye nodded, walking over and stealing and egg roll. “Yeah, people were getting like texts and shit about it all night. It was all over Facebook and Twitter too. Apparently she was just…there, in a ditch or something.”

Fitz had his arms resting on his knees and his head in his hands as he listened to Skye, his jaw clenched tightly. Resting her hand on his knee, Jemma smiled kindly at Skye. “How long was she missing for?”

“Like five days or something? She went out with some friends last weekend. The stupid thing is that she was the DD, you know?” Skye shook her head and took a sip of Jemma’s beer; Jemma was fairly sure that her roommate didn’t need _more_ to drink, but held her tongue. “They pregamed at someone’s house and hopped around a few parties and by the time they ended up at the club they were supposed to go to for someone’s birthday, no one knew where Hannah was and someone else had her car keys. And I guess she’s dead now.”

Her voice broke at the end and Jemma could see her eyes fill with tears. Standing up, Jemma wrapped both of her arms around Skye, easing her into a hug. As Skye pressed her face into Jemma’s neck, Jemma asked, “Were you two close?”

“Not really,” she said, sniffling. “We shared a few classes. But she was—she was nice, you know? She was a good person.” Shrugging and wiping her eyes, Skye said, “There are a lot of people who probably, like, deserve to die and get dumped at the side of the road, but Hannah wasn’t one of them.” She finally smiled when Jemma wiped a few stray tears off her cheek, leaning over to give her a kiss on her cheek. “I’m drunk and tired, so I’m just gonna go to bed.”

“Okay.” Jemma kissed her back, smoothing down her damp hair. “If you need me, I’ll be here.”

Skye nodded, reaching down to steal another egg roll. “Thanks. Night, Jem. See you, Prof.”

As Skye disappeared down the hall to her room, Jemma sat down on the couch again with Fitz. There was a certain punctuation to his silence, to his downcast eyes and tightly clasped hands. Carefully, she covered his hands with her own, gently caressing his skin. His shoulders fell as he stared at the floor. “She was a student of mine.”

“Hannah?” Jemma said, stomach clenching with guilt.

Nodding, he said, “She was in one of my classes. Smart girl, really smart. She was at Caltech for some sort of social science, but I kept telling her she should consider at least double majoring in theoretical mathematics because she clearly had the mind for it.” He scrubbed a hand roughly over his face with one hand, but held tightly to Jemma’s fingers with the other. “Skye’s right, she didn’t—she didn’t deserve this.”

Trying to ignore the responsibility that suddenly weighed heavily on her shoulders, Jemma swallowed hard. She laced her fingers through his, using her other hand to stroke the back of his neck in a way that she hoped was calming. “Oh, Fitz, of course she didn’t.”

“She was probably really scared,” he mumbled. The disappointment seemed to roll off him in waves. “She was a nice person, she wouldn’t have even…” Letting out a shaky breath, he said, “We’ve got to do something, Jemma. We can’t just let girls like Hannah be killed.”

“I know, I know,” she said, stroking the back of his head, even though all of his “we”s always meant just her. “Tomorrow, alright? We’ll gather more information, retrace her steps, we’ll do something.”

Tightly squeezing her hand, Fitz softly said, “Thank you.” Leaning her head against his, Jemma hoped to absorb some of his grief.

There was only ever one Slayer, one girl in all the world to fight against the vampires. The one person with the abilities and responsibility and duty to protect all others from the evils of the night. Jemma supposed it was time she was reminded that she never really had a choice in that.

* * *

When Skye stumbled out of her room at a little before one the next morning, Jemma regarded her carefully. She could almost be proud of her; it was practically unheard of to see her roommate before three when she’d drank as much as Jemma thought she had, but Jemma wasn’t so sure it was a good thing. She flopped on the couch next to Jemma, who looked away from her chemistry forum just as Skye pressed her face into her shoulder. Holding back a smile, Jemma stroked her dark hair. “How are you doing?”  


“I drank an inhuman amount of tequila last night,” Skye mumbled against the sleeve of Jemma’s knit cardigan. “And then after people found out about Hannah, they just kept ordering rounds of shots, like…to pour one out, I guess?”

“Sounds like a fun preamble to having your stomach pumped.”

Grumbling in agreement, Skye reached out towards the coffee table—one of her several extrasensory perceptions seemed to be for hot drinks. She picked up Jemma’s mug and took a long swig before sitting back and staring at her with betrayal. “This is not coffee.”

“Chamomile, I’m afraid,” Jemma said, not bothering to hide her amusement. “There’s iced coffee in the fridge for you.” At Skye’s continued confusion, she explained, “I made coffee this morning like a normal person. Rather than let it grow cold and get old, I put it over ice and set it in the fridge to chill.”

Making a noise of understanding, Skye patted Jemma’s cheek and ambled off to the kitchen. “You’re a good person. I’m glad I found you.”

It was probably not the best time to bring up who responded to whose Craigslist ad. Jemma replied to a few of her forum friends as Skye stood in the doorway to their kitchen, chugging down the black ice coffee. “So,” Skye said once she was presumably properly caffeinated. “How long have you been sleeping with my physics professor?”

Jemma looked up, startled, her face burning with embarrassment. “I’m not—Fitz is a friend. Colleague. There’s nothing else going on there.”

“I’m not nearly as stupid as you think I am. I got home at like two last night, ‘colleagues’ do not visit each other at two in the morning.”

They did if those were normal working hours for said colleagues, but Jemma had yet to decide if she wanted to have the Slayer conversation with Skye. “We had been talking and it got late, those things happen. We just lost track of time, you know.”

Skye rolled her eyes as she took her seat on the couch again. “You know you’re not a good liar, right?”

Jemma was very proud of herself for not snorting in disbelief. “We were just talking about work things. We’re friends, if that. I’m not…I’m not sure what we are,” she admitted. Officially, he was her Watcher, but that seemed like an ill-fitting description, particularly for someone who had yet to watch her do any slaying.

“Have you considered being fuck buddies?” Skye said, taking another swig of her iced coffee. “I’m just saying, work friends don’t suddenly forget they’re hanging out with ‘professional colleagues’ until 2 A.M. because they’re so involved in the academia of it all. It’s not like he was only here last night anyway. He’s always here. I might need to put him on the lease and start charging him rent. Unless he’s just gonna share your room, if you know what I mean.”

She blushed again, cursing herself for being so swayed by Skye’s innuendo. A very unprofessional image of Fitz popped into Jemma’s head unbidden and she did her best to will it away. “I know what you mean and it’s not like that.”

Leaning back, Skye regarded Jemma carefully. “ _Really?_ I mean, he’s kinda cute. A lot of girls in class have crushes on him. Probably because he’s young and a lot of the freshmen and sophomores have weird professor fantasies, but he’s a good looking guy. You know.” She started to sing, “ _Young teacher, the subject of school girl fantasy…_ ”

“Alright, enough!” Jemma said, bristling uncomfortably at the idea of young students lusting after her Watcher in the middle of physics lecture. “Are you just talking about Fitz so you don’t have to talk about Hannah?” The question was met with silence and Jemma sighed. “You don’t have to talk about it, you know. I just want you to know that if you want to, I’m here and it’s an option. Or you could even talk to Fitz, if you’d like to. He was her professor, he knew her. Or I’m sure the school is bringing in grief—”

“Oh, no, I’m not talking to any counselors.” Skye shook her head resolutely. “I’d rather talk to Professor Fitz and we can become best friends forever.” Sighing, she leaned back against the arm of the couch, slurping her iced coffee. “It’s the same thing that was blowing up my phone all night. People on Facebook and whatever talking about how great of a person Hannah was and how they’re going to miss her and how they’re so sad and none of them really _knew_ her, you know? I just feel like as soon as people die, everyone gets so fake.”

Picking up her chamomile, Jemma sipped it thoughtfully and nodded. “People don’t really know how to deal with death. They always think they need to have some sort of reaction. Most people do feel something—it’s hard not to, whether or not we knew the dead person, it’s a shared human experience. It hits people differently and everyone needs to find their way to express that in a way they find both satisfying and socially acceptable.” Patting Skye’s leg, she said, “Whatever you’re feeling, it’s okay, too.”

Skye chewed on her bottom lip for a minute. “I feel like Hannah got a raw fucking deal and I hope they catch whoever the monster is that did that to her. But I don’t want to sit in a room and cry, or go to the memorial service, or go to a bar with a group of people who I don’t really know and share a story about that one time she leant me a pencil or whatever. None of that is gonna make me feel better.”

“That’s fair. What do you think will?”

Groaning, Skye shrugged. “I don’t know. I think I’m just going to go The Hub tonight. It’s ladies’ night so I think I’ll just drink and dance until I feel better.”

This startled Jemma and she stared at her roommate with a racing pulse. “Alone?”

“I mean, it’s ladies’ night, so I’m sure there will be people I know there, but yeah. I don’t really feel like _being_ with anyone right now, you know? Like, I’m sure Trip will go with me, or Lincoln even though he’s got this huge paper due next week, I mean, someone died. But I don’t really want to see either of them.”

Tapping her fingers quickly against the ceramic of her mug, Jemma went through several scenarios in her mind in a few seconds; very few of those scenarios had an outcome that was acceptable to her. Sighing, she closed her eyes and suggested, “What if I went with you?”

She sat up, eyeing her suspiciously. “You want to go to a club with me?”

“It could be fun.”

Skye clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth like this was some sort of interrogation. “You don’t even really drink that much.”

“Excuse me, I’m British. I can drink plenty when I like,” she said, unable to keep the haughtiness out of her tone. Then she shrugged one shoulder and said, “I just…I’d feel better if I was with you. After Hannah—well, I didn’t know her, but death affects us all differently. I don’t want you going alone.”

For a moment, Skye stared at her with a look that was indecipherable and Jemma wondered if she was insulted by Jemma’s sudden protective streak. Then Skye wrapped her arms around Jemma’s shoulders, hugging her tightly. “Thank you,” she said, her voice revealing a note of melancholy. “Thank you for caring.” She sat back with a wistful smile. “We’ll make a night of it, okay? Get all pretty and dressed up, we can do each other’s hair. It’ll be great. We’ll be super hot, we’ll drink all night for free, ladies’ night or not.”

Jemma laughed, Skye’s sudden enthusiasm catching. “Sounds good to me.”

Standing up and draining the last of her coffee, Skye said, “I’ve gotta go find you something to wear.”

Unable to stop smiling at Skye’s eager attitude, Jemma waited for her to disappear before she picked up her phone to let Fitz know she would be busy tonight. Patrolling would have to wait. There were things—and people—that were more important.

* * *

The music thrummed loudly in her bones as Skye dragged Jemma up to the bar. So far, Skye had seen no less than a dozen people to wave to and Jemma was left wondering just how many people Skye  _knew_ . Jemma didn’t think she had known as a many people in London as Skye knew in this particular club tonight.  


As Jemma had expected, the crowd around the bar was thick with people, generally young co-eds, all trying to get a drink. “Wait here!” Skye shouted in her ear. She disappeared into the throng with surprising grace and ease, leaving Jemma waiting just outside the masses. Adjusting her dress for the hundredth time since they got there, she reminded herself that not every article of clothing a person wore had to be weapons-permitting. Sometimes something was allowed to just look pretty. Or, as Skye had said, “really ridiculously hot.”

Being in such a vibrant atmosphere reminded her of some of the pubs she had gone to back in London. While complete different in most ways, the energy reminded her of foamy pints and late nights, the kind of buzz she got before everything was defined by whether a vampire was killed that night.

Skye appeared at her side seemingly out of nowhere, handing her a plastic cup. “Cheers!”

“That was quick,” Jemma said, raising her voice to be heard over the music.

“I know the bartender, he’s cool!”

“Do you know everyone?” Skye just shrugged and took a long gulp of her vodka and cranberry. Jemma did the same, wincing when she realized it was far more vodka than cranberry. “These are—”

“Good, right? They try to water ‘em down on ladies’ night, but my guy always makes them right for me.” After chugging down the last of hers and setting it on a tabletop, Skye looked at her with overly bright eyes. “C’mon, finish up so we can dance.”

Steeling herself, Jemma swallowed down the vodka, reminding herself that she was the Slayer and this was nothing. This night was for Skye and if she needed to get drunk on vodka and dance, that was why Jemma was there. After she set her cup down, Skye grabbed her hand and led her down a small flight of stairs to what was presumably the dance floor but actually just looked like a large group of people just stuck together. Jemma quickly let the overwhelming beat of the music drown out those inner thoughts. She was almost as bad as Coulson. Or worse—Fitz.

Skye clung tightly to her hand so that they wouldn’t lose each other before staking out their spots. Dancing had never been Jemma’s strongest skill—she’d done ballet as a child, but for the past several years, all of her grace and rhythm had been dedicated to the murder of vampires and anything else that deserved it. Still, she tried to mimic Skye and just enjoyed herself.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed; each song flowed seamlessly into the next and it was hard to tell if the people around them changed. Skye was panting a bit, her skin shining with exertion as she gestured for them to leave the area. Jemma followed eagerly, taking Skye’s hand and heading towards an area slightly off to the side where there were a few tables.

With better balance than Jemma expected in a tight dress and five inch heels, Skye hopped up to one of the high top tables and Jemma followed suit. “Are you having fun?” Skye said, watching her with eager brown eyes.

“I am!” she insisted, relieved that it was true. She hadn’t let loose in a way that hadn’t involved some sort of battle training in longer than she cared to admit. The looseness in her limbs was unfamiliar, but even in her constricting dress and heels she felt freer than in recent memory. She could see why this was Skye’s preferred method of grieving. “We should have done this a lot sooner.”

“I like it when you agree with me.” Skye hopped down with a grin. “I’m getting more drinks!”

The tiny purse Skye had given her had been just large enough for her keys, phone, and a bit of money. She could see that she had a few missed texts from Fitz—surprisingly, few were complaints about her skipping out on patrolling. Mostly it was conversational complaining about how undergraduate students were stupid and why did they even take physics if they had no interest in the subject. Smiling to herself, she texted him in commiseration, telling him a quick story about a lab disaster from the week prior.

So caught up in properly recalling all the things that can go wrong when lab procedures are not followed when specimens are involved, she didn’t realize Skye had returned until a cup of strong alcohol was placed in front of her. “Whatcha doin?” Skye said, sipping round two through a tiny straw.

“Nothing,” Jemma said, hiding her phone back into the bag. She took a quick drink from her cup, almost choking at how strong it was. If anything there was more alcohol this time than the time before.

“Texting Fitz?” Skye said, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

“No.” She said it too quickly and Skye just laughed at her. “I mean. He had a work question.”

Rolling her eyes playfully, she said, “Riiight. Did you text him pictures of how sexy you look?”

“What? Skye, no!”

Stirring her straw in her cup, Skye sighed. “Why not? You look hot as hell. I’ll take it, you want me to take it?”

Flushing pink at the suggestion, she quickly deflected. “I really don’t think it’s appropriate for you to be sending pictures like that to one of your professors. Pictures of another professor!”

“Hey, you’re the one who keeps bringing him around the house because you want to bang the guy,” Skye said, her lofty tone making Jemma squirm in her seat.

“I do not—”

“Blah blah, not fucking, blah blah, I’ve _seen_ you two, whatever. Just get over yourself and get on that before finals, okay? I could really use the GPA boost and so could your students when you finally get laid and relax a little.”

Jemma hid her face behind her cup, even knowing that the see-through plastic would do nothing to block how red her face was becoming. Maybe it was the alcohol, or the noise of the club blocking out all reasonable thought, but she wondered for a moment what it would be like if Fitz wasn’t her Watcher, if he was just a man that she was allowed to want just like every other man. She took a long drink to rid herself of her suddenly dry mouth. Even now, when she was with Fitz, it was easy to forget he was her Watcher with all the rules and taboos associated with their roles.  

Shaking away the thoughts and the steady warmth in her gut, she casually scanned the club. Fear suddenly gripped her as she realized that if Skye was here, some of her students might be also. It was reason enough to think that most of her students were younger than 21 and hadn’t started as late as Skye had, but getting fake IDs, especially on campus, wasn’t hard.

Watching more cautiously now, her eyes fell on a tall man standing near the back of the room. A shot of lightning flew up her spine. Her entire body went on alert as she took in his features—even in the darkness of the club, strobes and colors flashing wildly, she could tell that he was abnormally pale. He was bent over and talking to a girl who looked too young to be able to get in here.

Suddenly, her lungs seemed to expand farther, taking in more air. Her muscles contracted and released on their own accord. All of her senses were on high alert and she twisted in her seat to get a better look at him, legs tensed to spring as needed.

“He’s kind of cute,” Skye said from behind her and Jemma turned to look at her. “Didn’t know you were into the tall types. You should go talk to him.”

She _should_ go over there. “It’s…well, I mean, it’s girls’ night.”

Skye waved her away. “Whatever, I’m gonna go dance! If you’re not going to go hook up with Fitz, you should be hooking up with someone. Come find me after you’re done having fun with the cute guy.”

Nodding more to herself than in answer to Skye, Jemma grabbed her purse and started to make her way through the crowds. Even in Skye’s heels, she was smaller than most and it was difficult to keep the man in her sight while trying to push her way through. She didn’t want to hurt anyone that didn’t need to be hurt.

The man and his companion were on the move and Jemma cursed to herself, desperate not to lose them. She tracked them to a door that said “Employees Only,” though no one stopped her from entering. It led to a hallway full of offices and supply rooms; the end was a delivery entrance, propped open by a small wooden block.

The delivery entrance wasn’t much larger than a typical alleyway, wide enough for a truck but not much more than that. Her prey had _his_ prey pressed up against the wall of the building and a shot of adrenaline surged through her. Picking up a nearby keg, she lifted it over her head and threw it at his back.

When he turned towards her, his face was contorted with evil, fangs bared in a hiss. The girl he was with screamed, clearly only now realizing that she was with a vampire. “Go home!” Jemma snapped at her, sounding an awful lot like her own mother. The girl didn’t hesitate, running towards the end of the alley and out of her sight.

The vampire advanced on her quickly and Jemma reached for her purse before realizing this wasn’t really her purse, it was Skye’s and she was not carrying a stake. Mentally cursing as the vampire’s strength sent her flying into the brick of the building next door, she shook off the future bruises. Jemma took off her heels, deciding that potential glass in her feet was better than trying to fight on shaky footing.

She took a few punches to the stomach, coughing at lack of air before grabbing the vampire by his shoulders and tossing him towards the dumpsters just to get some space between them. Before he could rush her again, she spotted a broken bottle against the wall. Grabbing what was assuredly a horrifically dirty paper bag to protect her hand, she picked up a large piece of the glass. If nothing else, she could always behead him.

When he came at her at a run, Jemma slashed at him quickly, but her cuts were wholly ineffective. She couldn’t get anywhere near his neck. He kicked the glass out of her hand, then kicked her in the chest, sending her flying to the back of the alley. She landed on a stack of wooden pallets, every part of her body absorbing the fall.

Rolling off on to the ground, she tried to take a second to catch her breath, but the vampire clearly wasn’t allowing that. She had just enough time to grab one of the pallets and slam it over his head before he was on her, teeth bared in his leap. She kicked him off her to give her a few more seconds of time, smashing another pallet against the side of a dumpster. She only needed a piece.

This time, when the vampire came at her, she was ready. The wooden shard from the pallet sank easily into his heart. He barely had a chance to look shocked before he exploded into dust.

Jemma tossed the wood to the side, leaning against the wall of the building for a moment to take a breath. Every part of her body was humming with satisfaction. Retrieving her shoes and slipping them back on her feet, she took a second to fix her dress and hair before entering the club again.

She found Skye back at the bar, nursing a third cocktail. “Hey! Did it go okay?” she said, watching Jemma’s face curiously.

“Not my type,” she said shortly, snagging Skye’s cup from her and taking a long drink. The burn from the alcohol was refreshing. “I need to go find Fitz.”

Skye’s face lit up. “Seriously?”

“I was going to take the car, do you need me to drop you off at home?”

“No, go!” She refused her drink when Jemma tried to give it back to her and Jemma quickly drank down the rest. “I was actually going to meet a handsome gentleman myself, I’ll get back to the apartment.” Grinning brightly, she added with a suggestive giggle, “Have a good time.”

Jemma gave her a kiss on the cheek before heading back to the entrance, the cool air of the night welcoming her back to work. 

* * *

Jemma was still a bit tipsy as she walked up to Fitz’s door, knocking firmly. She wasn’t sure if the buzz through her system could be attributed to alcohol or adrenaline. Possibly a bit of both. Either way, she felt incredibly impatient as she waited for him to open the door.  


She was first greeted with his sigh of exasperation. “Do you know what time it…” His complaint trailed off as he took her in, his eyes lighting up as they raked over her form. “What are you doing here?”

Not bothering to wait for an invitation, she marched past him. “I went out tonight.”

“Oh.” It was said more of an acknowledgement than anything else as he strayed behind her, closing the door slowly. “That’s why you blew off patrol? So you could go get drunk?” He hesitated by the door for a minute before asking again, quieter this time, “With…with anyone?”

“Skye,” she said, lounging out on his couch. She didn’t miss the way his eyes perked up, the corner of his lips quirking almost into a smile. Or the way he couldn’t stop watching her legs. “We went to this place not far from campus, The Hub. It was ladies’ night. After Hannah, I didn’t want her to be out alone.”

Nodding slowly, he said, “Well, I’m glad you had fun.”

“I did more than that, I worked.” At his confused look, she grinned widely at him, making sure to hold his gaze. “I slayed a vampire.”

“What?” He sat across from her, perched at the edge of his coffee table. “In…in that?” He gestured to her club attire and she just smirked, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

“Please, I could have stabbed him with my heel if I had to,” she said, more casual than she felt. Her heart was beating at an abnormally quick rhythm and only increased its pace when he reached out to brush a bruise on her cheek with the back of his knuckles. “I’m fine,” she assured him, catching his hand. Their fingers sat intertwined between them as she smiled. “It was just one.”

He dropped his head, shoulders heaving as he breathed in deep. Before she could try to parse out what kind of reaction that was, he said, “Your leg’s bleeding.”

Looking down quickly, she saw the faint red down her inner thigh and now that she knew it was there, could feel the sting of the cut. “Oh, it’s nothing—” she started, but he had already fetched the first aid kit from the top of the refrigerator.

After sitting on the other end of the couch and pulling out a few first aid supplies, Fitz eased both of her legs on to his lap and began treating the wound. “It’s not too deep,” he murmured, cleaning it with antibacterial cream.

“It’s fine. It’ll be healed by tomorrow.”

Blatantly ignoring her, he put Neosporin on the cut as he said, “So, a vampire at a club. That’s pretty 90’s.”

“Yeah, I thought so too,” she said with a small laugh. “But I guess ladies’ night is a good a place as any to find prey. They’re usually busier than other nights, people get drunker, they cater to more women who tend to be more popular targets. I wouldn’t be surprised if all of the bars and clubs around here were targets. I mean, it’s a college area, there’s a lot of intoxication going on, often underage.”

He put a plaster over her cut, then finished cleaning the excess blood off the bottom of her thigh. “Right, no, it makes sense.”

She hesitated a moment before adding, “They found Hannah’s car at a club and she hadn’t been drinking but…” Fitz nodded sharply, though his hands remained soft on her skin. Jemma sighed. “Luckily, Skye’s usually aware of who’s having events when; I guess she’ll just think I’ve taken up drinking or something—”

His head flew up. “You’re going to go back then?”

She blinked at him. “Well, possibly not to The Hub for a bit, but I’m going to try some other places, see if I’m right about this hypothesis. Coeds disappearing from bars is never really a story, it would be easy to hide the occasional missing girl or even guy if they didn’t come back from a night drinking. So many possible things could happen to them.”

Both of his hands settled on her knee; all sensation in her body seemed to be focused on that point where his thumb was absentmindedly rubbing back and forth. “Alright, just tell me when we need to go.”

Raising an eyebrow, she said, “’We?’”

He huffed, clearly affronted. “I’m not going to let you patrol alone. I’m your Watcher, I’m going to—”

“Watch?” she suggested, tilting her head to one side and pushing her hair over her shoulder.

Fitz’s throat moved as he swallowed, seemingly unable to not stare down at her body. After forcing himself to look back up at her eyes, he shook his head. “N-no, no, of course not.” Pulling his hands away from her and crossing his arms over his chest, he focused intently on the wall in front of them. “I have a duty as your Watcher to help you with whatever you need. Just tell me what you need assistance with and I’ll be there.”

A burst of warmth erupted in her chest and she smiled fondly at him. “Okay.” Scooting towards him, she rested her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. “We’ll get to work tomorrow.”

The pounding of his heartbeat was reassuring, as was the hitch in his throat. “Are you—are you sleeping here tonight?” he said hesitantly.

“Just taking a bit of a nap, I think. It’s tough work, you know, slaying vampires.”

“I just wasn’t sure you remembered.”

Scoffing, she settled her head more comfortable on his shoulder. “It was nice though,” she said softly. “Slaying again. It felt good.”

He made a small noise of agreement before wrapping his arm around her and pulling her towards him so that she was more solidly against him. She wriggled a bit until she was comfortable as he pulled down the throw blanket from the back of the couch to cover her shoulders, leaving his arm there covering her. “Sleep for now,” he said quietly and she nodded off filled with the fatigue of accomplishment and the comfort of home.

 


	2. My Heartbeat Beats Me Senselessly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to ardentaislinn for betaing this chapter.

Her heart pounded eagerly at the familiar sound of the Skype ring as the call tried to connect. It took a moment for the picture to clear on her screen, but she couldn’t help but beam at the pixilation. Finally, she could see him clearly and she relaxed back against the couch. “Coulson.”

“Hi, Jemma,” he said fondly. She could see the familiar wall of his office behind him, the shelves of books, memorabilia, scrolls that they had consulted during her training.

“I hope it’s not too late over there,” she said, taking a sip of her tea.

He shook his head. “Of course not. You know we never kept exact schedules.”

Laughing lightly, she remembered before she was the Slayer: waking up at 5:45 every morning, her precise daily routines. Sometimes she was lucky if she went to bed before then. “I know what you mean. I just…I wanted to check in.” She didn’t want to say that she missed him; was one supposed to miss their Watcher?

“I’m glad you did.” He sounded as sincere as ever and the familiar compassion in his voice washed over her like the comfort of a worn jumper. “How have things been? With you and Fitz?”

That certainly was a question. Pressing her lips together, she thought about it for a minute, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “They’re…they’re good. I mean, they’re definitely improving.” They were more confusing now that Fitz was actually acting more like her Watcher, helping her patrol. Before, when nothing was happening, the state of limbo had been something definable, if frustrating. Now things were blurred, with him as her Watcher and something…else. Something that made her squirm when she thought about it, something that she knew she would not be bringing up to Coulson.

“That’s good to hear. You know, I still feel like maybe I should have come with you.”

“It’s fine, really,” Jemma insisted. “Fitz and I are finding a balance. All working relationships take some time to work out the kinks. You’ve got important things to do there. You don’t need to worry about me. How are things?”

His attempted smile didn’t reach his eyes. “No change.”

Heart skipping a beat, she internally chastised herself for asking about something that was none of her business. “Right. Well, it’s nice to know that some things never change.” She cleared her throat a way to change the topic. “Fitz and I have may have made a recent breakthrough over here for tracking vampires. I’m not sure if there’s a local group or not, but we think that the local vampires follow a hunting pattern that we may be able to exploit.”

Blue eyes brightening with pride, he said, “Good. You two were both always good with data analysis and pattern related game theory.” He settled his hand against his chin thoughtfully. “You know that if you need help, I’m here for you.”

“Of course—”

“I can always come out there—”

“I don’t need you to,” she said, swallowing hard at the hurt look on his face. “It’s not that…no, I mean, it’s not that I don’t need you. But Fitz and I have been doing really well.” It was somewhat true. They could be doing a lot worse. “I know that it was a concern at first, my leaving so suddenly and having to find a Watcher to come with me. But I know that what’s…what’s in England is important to you and I don’t want you to feel like you have to—to save me.”

Coulson shook his head. “That’s not what I think. You’re not someone who has ever needed saving.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, which looked thinner than it had when she had left. “I don’t want you to feel abandoned.”

“It was my choice to leave. I mean, to—to go to Caltech,” she said, fumbling over the words. She wondered if he would think it was a glitch in their connection. “I knew that there was no guarantee that you or anyone else would be able to come with me.”

“Of course we would have sent someone with you, we’re not going to send our Slayer off alone.”

Her stomach twisted at the classification and she forcefully reminded herself that Coulson did not think of her merely as the Slayer. “Well, I’m glad it was Fitz.”

He was curiously silent about that for a moment. “Good. That’s…that’s good. It’s important that you feel supported. I always thought that Fitz would make a fine Watcher.”

“He’s not as good as you though.”

There was a proud gleam in his eye as he grinned at her fondly. “Give him time. I think you two will end up being really great together.”

Ignoring the sudden pounding in her chest, she said, “However, I do feel like I did not get nearly enough training on how to fight in a short dress and heels.” Her voice was high even to her own ears, and she cleared her voice purposefully. “Perhaps something to consider for the next one.”

“Right.” There was a hitch in his voice at the word and he forced a wan smile. For a moment, he just stared at her, drinking her in, and she internally preened under his approving eye. “So, tell me about your work at Caltech.”

She picked up her tea, which had started to grow cold. “You never understand my work.”

“Tell me anyway. Tell me as if I were one of your students.” Jemma raised an eyebrow at him. “Okay,” he tried, “tell me as if I were one of your students who needed tutoring.”

Laughing, she launched into an explanation of her current research and the hopeful applications of the dendrotoxin. To his credit, Coulson did his best to follow along, even though she knew that biochemistry was hardly his area of expertise. When she felt like she had exhausted all points of discussion about her project that were valid for this particular conversation, she told him about the classes she was teaching and her students, about living with Skye, about how different California was from London. She had forgotten how good it felt just to talk to him.

“Fitz did find a place that makes good scones though. It’s on the way to the university from his place. I think we eat more scones now than I ever did in England,” she admitted. Coulson chuckled, then raised a hand to his mouth to stifle a yawn. Jemma tutted under her breath. “You should get some sleep.”

“We don’t sleep,” he said, gesturing to a large pile of books next to his computer. “We run off of caffeine and ancient texts and…righteousness.”

“Mmhmm. Righteousness might work for Gonzales, but you need to sleep, sir.”

He yawned again, louder this time. “Fair enough. But we should talk more often, Jemma. And not just when you have Slayer information to tell me, though that’s good too. I just…” He hesitated for a moment to collect his thoughts. “Just because I’m not there with you doesn’t mean I’m not here for you.”

“Understood. Thank you,” she said. Anxiety settled in her chest as she thought of trying to fill yet another conversation without alerting him to the fact that she was not living up to her potential.

“And tell Fitz that…tell Fitz that I’m pleased, but not surprised that he’s doing well at this job. Someone who respects not only the position, but the Council as much as he does was bound to be good at it, but I’m happy to see the two of you establishing such a good working relationship.” The words were specifically chosen and all Jemma could do was nod and wonder how much Coulson knew from half a world away.

After they hung up, Jemma looked at the clock: it was half nine, almost ten. She had wondered if talking to Coulson would inspire that part of her that had once been eager for the life, felt the destiny course through her veins. It was the perfect time for the hunt. She could be patrolling alleys, staked out in a graveyard, scouring darkened streets for those that would do others harm. Fitz or not, this was her duty, though she knew it would only take one phone call to have him at her door.

Instead, she drank down the last bit of her now cold tea and picked up the remote control. Endlessly frustrating patrols of the streets of Pasadena or _The Princess Bride_ on cable?

She was going to have to make popcorn.

* * *

When the knock on the door finally came, Skye leapt up to answer it before Jemma even had a chance to react. It was almost difficult to remember which of them had superhuman skills. “Hey, Professor,” Skye said when she opened the door to Fitz, eyeing him up and down. “Glad you decided to come out with us tonight.”

“Uh, yeah,” he said, completely awkward. He hands were stuffed in his pockets and he nodded at Skye before looking over at Jemma. She had to appreciate that he attempted a smile. “Hey.”

“Hi, Fitz,” she said, tucking a nonexistent stray hair behind her ears. Skye had put her hair up and secured it with more than enough hairspray, per her request. She needed it to be vampire-proof.

His eyes swept up and down her body a few times, clearly making a good effort to take in how she looked in Skye’s black dress. Jemma fought back the shiver that tried to force its way down her spine, but she could feel her cheeks warm up. “You look nice,” he murmured, licking his lips.

Jemma’s voice caught on her thanks and Skye cleared her throat. “I look nice too, right?”

Blushing, Fitz rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re my student, that’d be inappropriate. I mean, going out to a club with you is inappropriate enough.” Jemma had been worried about Skye’s reaction to Fitz infringing on their girls’ nights out, but Skye had surprisingly been more than happy with the idea of her professor joining them and had insisted he do so at the earliest opportunity.

“Whatever,” Skye said, waving away his concern. “I’m pretty sure the last professor the administration is concerned about is _you_.”

Fitz looked like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be offended by that or not, then just sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I, uh, I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to wear.” He had made an excellent attempt, Jemma thought generously. His jeans were tighter and darker than usual, almost a black wash. The sweater was a nice forest green, with no particular pattern, and she couldn’t see a button down underneath it. There was no tie in sight. For Fitz, this was downright casual.

“No offense, Professor Fitz, but I kind of knew that you wouldn’t have club clothes.” Skye ducked into her room and reappeared with her arms full of leather and denim, thrusting them at Fitz. “Here, try these.”

As Skye shooed him into Jemma’s room so that he could try them on, Jemma smirked. “Where did you get all that? Trip?”

Snorting, Skye flopped on the couch; Jemma had to marvel at her extremely high platform heels and the way she somehow managed to keep her similarly short dress from riding up. “Please, Trip is twice the size of him. No offense, Prof!” she called out. “I got them from Lincoln, he’s closer in size.”

“’Trip?’” Fitz said in disbelief from the bedroom. Jemma could hear him fumbling with zippers. “’Lincoln?’”

“Lincoln’s actually pre-med, you might have him eventually. I’m not sure if he’s taken physics yet. We don’t really talk that much. He’s yet to actually have anything interesting to say.”

“But,” Jemma chimed in, “of all the ones I’ve met, he does have the best style.”

Skye nodded seriously. “And butt.”

“How many boyfriends do you have?” Fitz’s grumbles were not at all muffled by Jemma’s partially-closed door.

“Okay, first of all, ‘boyfriend’ is a strong word. I have several super fun friends and they all service various needs I have that none of them could do alone.” Skye winked at Jemma, then grinned lasciviously. “What, is there not a physics term for that?”

As Fitz finally came out of the room, he mumbled, “Oh, there’s a term for that, but it’s not physics related…”

“Fitz!” Jemma admonished, rolling her eyes.

“That is a pretty judgmental attitude from a man who is going out with a colleague and a student,” Skye said pointedly. She walked over to Fitz, who protested as she got eye-level with his crotch. Ignoring his yelp of indiscretion, she adjusted his jeans by the belt loops, helping them sit better on his hips. She stood back and gave him an appraising look. “This works for you.”

Jemma had to agree. The new jeans were cut slimmer than the ones he had worn, highlighting the disguised strength in his legs. Somehow, Skye had managed to get a shirt that was the exact color as his eyes, which shone brighter than usual. Not only did that make his eyes devastatingly blue rather than just the normal distractingly blue, but the shirt was made of a material that clung to his chest in a way that created more questions than answers. To complete the outfit was a brown leather jacket; it sat nicely on his shoulders, giving them a more filled out appearance.

She was so deep within her reverie that she didn’t realize her name was being called. “Jemma?” Fitz prompted for perhaps the fifth or tenth time, she couldn’t be sure. “What do you think?”

She thought she shouldn’t be having these thoughts about her Watcher, with heat pooling in the pit of her stomach and her heart beating arrhythmically, a beat that sounded far too fast for the way she was allowed to feel. “You look really good,” she said. Walking to him slowly, she ran her hands through his hair to fix the curls that had gotten mussed when he had gotten changed. She didn’t miss the way his eyes closed when her nails scratched against his scalp and down the back of his neck.

Brushing her hands over his shoulders and down his sleeves, she could feel goosebumps prick at her arms. Just as she had expected, the leather was like butter and she used her powers of self-control not to move closer and feel it against her bare skin. “I like the jacket,” she murmured, running her finger along the long line of the zipper.

“Yeah, me too. It’s got, uh, it’s got good pockets,” he said softly. He took her hand in his, guiding her to his hip where she could feel the zippered side pocket of the jacket. “They’re big, they can hold…you know, _stuff_.”

In her heels, they were the same height, but it was difficult for her to drag her eyes away from his sternum and up to meet his gaze. She tried to give him a knowing look, tried to focus on how much easier it would be to carry stakes and crosses, but all she could focus on were how dark his eyes were, the way his pupils were blown wide.

“If everything fits you, you can keep it,” Skye said, unable to keep the edge of amusement out of her voice. Fitz broke his stare with Jemma to ask Skye if she was sure and her roommate just shrugged. “Oh yeah, Lincoln has a _ton_ of clothes. I’ll see if he’s got any more stuff that he needs to get rid of. You definitely need the wardrobe upgrade.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Fitz said, his eyes darting back to Jemma, lingering on her face.

“It’s cool. I have to dress Jemma too, so…”

Glancing over her shoulder at Skye, Jemma said, “I do have some clothes.”

“Okay, look, I know the 90s are coming back, but not your stuff. It’s like if Laura Ashley was in a grunge rock video. No thank you.” When Jemma just rolled her eyes, Skye checked herself in the mirror by the far wall and grabbed her bag. “Is everyone ready to head out? Ladies only get in free until 10:30.”

“My wallet and keys are in my other pants,” Fitz said, patting the pockets of his jeans just out of habit. “Give me one sec.”

As he walked back to her room, Jemma got a good look at his bum. It’s not that it wasn’t more than acceptable before, but these new pants highlighted it. She was probably a bit too busy staring because she didn’t realize Skye had come up next to her until she playfully bumped her shoulder. “Hey, so, thanks for totally sleeping with my professor.”

Skye’s wink made her blush and she wriggled anxiously in her too tall shoes, but despite the anxious nerves from knowing better, she found that this was a claim that she wasn’t willing to deny.

* * *

Skye navigated The Playground like she owned the place. Jemma envied her ability to naturally fit in anywhere and couldn’t help but feel bad for Fitz as he ambled behind them, clearly uncomfortable in the crowds of the club. As Skye led them to the bar, weaving her way through the crowds, Jemma reached back and found Fitz’s hand so as not to lose him.

After finding what was possibly the only empty booth in the entire club, Skye spread out over one side, leaving the other for Fitz and Jemma.  Settling her hands on the table, she looked pointedly at Fitz. “Drink, please!”

Fitz glanced at Jemma, then raised an eyebrow at Skye. “I thought the whole point of this was that it was Ladies’ Night. You drink for free.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to stand in that,” Skye said, nodding to the bar. Jemma followed her gaze to where dozens of people were waiting at the bar for drinks. “You’re the only one of us not wearing heels, it’s only fair.”

“I have no idea how that even makes sense. You chose your shoes.”

“Also we want to talk about you while you’re gone.” Skye gave him a winning smile. “I’ll have a vodka cranberry.”

Eyes rolling to the back of his head, he turned to Jemma. “Can I take your order?”

“Anything is fine, really,” she said, trying not to feel guilty as he sighed and moved to join the mob of people trying to get to the bar. When he was certainly out of earshot, she shot a look at Skye. “I wasn’t aware hazing was part of the plan tonight.”

“Neither was I until we got here and then I decided, hey, why not?” Shrugging nonchalantly, she settled back against the booth. As her eyes drifted across the throngs of people, she said, “You know, he does clean up well.”

Fiddling with her necklace, Jemma nodded. “You do have excellent fashion sense. And luckily, Lincoln has a wardrobe large enough that I don’t think he noticed that you…pilfered some items.”

Skye laughed to herself, a mischievous glint in her eye. “I prefer ‘borrowing with no intent to return.’ But considering all the, uh, very nice things I had done for him that night, I think he can more than spare some clothes that he never wears and I think are too small for him. It’s more like I’m helping him clean out his closet.” She shook her head with a sigh. “His closet is like the size of my room. Rich people, man.”

Jemma tried not to think about how much clothing she had just sitting in boxes back at her parents’ house in Sheffield, stuff that just wasn’t important enough to bring to California. She idly wondered if she should start shopping for her own dresses again, instead of relying on Skye, but that would be like making a commitment to going out, one that she didn’t want to admit was likely. “Yeah,” she said, chewing on her bottom lip. “Right.”

“For the record, as your best friend, I think I approve of Fitz. I mean, he’s kind of uptight—”

“You know, he really isn’t,” Jemma insisted, thinking of how he was here, in a club, and allowing that to be their patrol rather than making her sit in a graveyard or something equally boring. Coulson never would have come to a club. Gonzales would have made her sit in the graveyard and memorized Latin, which she liked, except when Gonzales made her study it. “I think he just comes across that way to you because he feels like he has to present himself as a person of authority because he’s your professor.” It occurred to her that as her Watcher, he was supposed to be a person of authority to her as well, but he never had been. He never even tried to be, he was just…Fitz.

Pursing her lips thoughtfully, Skye pushed her hair back off her shoulders. “If you say so. You know him better than anyone else, I guess.”

As Jemma pondered the veracity of that statement, Fitz returned to their table carrying the drinks. He slid Skye’s drink over to her, then handed Jemma a bottle of beer. The booth seemed smaller now that he was in it again, his side pressing up against hers, the leather of his jacket creating pleasant friction against her bare arm. “Is this okay?” he murmured, nodding at the beer and she just smiled, taking a sip.

“That was quick,” Skye said, wrapping her lips around the tiny straw.

“Bartender’s a student of mine,” he said, holding the neck of his bottle casually between two fingers. “Saw me and called me up to the front of the line. Now _that’s_ how you get extra credit.”

Skye snorted. “Suck up.”

“Better than you blackmailing me all the time.”

“Dunno, seems to work out pretty well for me.” She grinned at him before picking up her drink. “As much as I’d love to hang out in the middle of…whatever this is—” She gestured back and forth between Jemma and Fitz with a skeptical expression “—there are lots of cute boys here that don’t know me yet. So I’m going to let you two have fun and I’ll catch up with you later.”

She wiggled her way out of the booth, leaving Fitz shaking his head. “If Coulson had known you found your roommate on Craigslist, he’d never have let you leave.”

Jemma laughed, nudging his side. “Stop, you like her.”

Smiling softly at her, Fitz shrugged. “She’s okay.”

The professional part of Jemma couldn’t help but note that they were supposed to be using this time for patrolling—if her hypothesis was correct, there would certainly be vampires attracted to the crowds of young, drunk women here for Ladies’ Night. However, she was more than happy in their booth, pressed against Fitz’s side, watching his lips wrap around the head of his beer bottle.

“So,” he said, putting his beer down in front of him. She held back her sigh, preparing herself for his suggestions: perhaps he’d want to split up so they could cover more ground, then she immediately dismissed that idea. He wasn’t the split up type. “How’s your research going? The university’s letting you focus on the dendrotoxin, right?”

She immediately perked up, her face the picture of delight. “Oh, yes! It’s going quite well, actually.” She suddenly felt warm all over, utterly pleased that he had felt the need to ask.

The DJ switched the song over to one with a thumping bass, one that beat almost as hard as her heart. Resting his arm delicately around her shoulders, Fitz leaned in so that she could hear him over the music. “Tell me about it.”

For a moment, she was breathless from the gentle pressure of his arm at the back of her head, the warmth of his breath on her skin, the intoxicating scent of his cologne. She recovered quickly, hoping her staring wasn’t noticeable, and launched into an in depth explanation of the current state of the project. Though biochemistry was hardly his area of expertise, Fitz was more than able to keep up with her descriptions of her work and results and even offered his own theories and ideas about practical applications. It was incredibly unique, she mused, to find someone who understood her mind and worked at a high enough level that she could consider them a partner in conversation.

They got lost in the conversation, trading ideas and possible dispersal methods. Fitz’s fingers stroked the bare skin of her back when he got particularly excited and she forced herself to cover up her shivers with a laugh. She didn’t think she’d seen him that animated since they’d gotten to California, didn’t think he even possessed that kind of enthusiasm about everything else.

 _Do you even like what you’re doing?_ Jemma wondered, finding herself lost in his eyes as he talked spiritedly, gesturing with his beer bottle. _Do you really care that much? Would you be doing this if you didn’t feel a responsibility to everyone?_

_Are we really that much the same?_

She was so preoccupied with Fitz’s bright eyes and pink cheeks that she didn’t realize Skye had returned to the table until she leaned against it, forcing herself into Jemma’s view. “I need you. Come dance with me.”

Jerking her eyes from their fixation on Fitz’s face, Jemma blinked at Skye. “What happened to all the hot men?”

“Good bodies, bad dancers.” Skye extended her hand across the table to Jemma, shaking it impatiently. “C’mon, I can’t dance alone.”

Before Jemma could answer, Fitz had moved out of the booth, giving Jemma room to scoot out. Sighing to herself, Jemma took Skye’s hand and allowed herself to be dragged off. Not allowing him to sit back down, Jemma snagged the edge of Fitz’s jacket and held tight. “No, I’m fine,” he said, but when he wriggled out of her grasp, she held his hand instead.

“We stick together,” she murmured. He rolled his eyes, then squeezed her hand.

Skye led them like a chain to the dancefloor, which was already packed with people. She seemed to immediately find the rhythm and Jemma indulged her, swaying to the beat. It took her a second to realize that Fitz was just standing there, motionless, staring at them. Rolling her eyes, she took both of his hands in hers, urging him to follow her movements. Though he responded, letting her move him, he seemed to lack any natural grace.

Grabbing the label of his leather jacket, she forced him to step into her personal space. His natural instinct was not to fight her, but to move his hands to her hips. Closing her eyes, she rocked to the music and felt him move with her, the warmth and vibrations of his body influencing her movement.

Like any good club, the music was seamless, the darkness and constant continuation of sound belying the fact that time was still passing out in the rest of the world. Skye had long since found a partner that she felt worthy of her dancing ability, leaving Jemma free to focus solely on Fitz. His eyes were heavily-lidded and he was breathing hard; she traced a bead of sweat down his throat, feeling a gnawing in her stomach as it slid beneath the collarof his shirt.

Leaning in so his cheek brushed hers, Jemma forced herself to ignore the delightful prick of his stubble against her skin. “You want another drink?” he said in her ear, almost too low to hear. Jemma would have nodded regardless of what he’d said, positive she would have agreed to anything he asked. One of his hands remained at her hip as he pushed his way through the crowds of the dancefloor.

Despite the continued crowds, the area surrounding the bar felt thirty degrees cooler. Fitz left her at a table to join the throng and she tilted her head towards the ceiling, desperate to cool down her overheated skin. As Fitz knocked on the bar to get attention, Jemma couldn’t help but to take another moment to appreciate the span his shoulders underneath the leather. Her eyes drifted down lower to take in the swell of his arse. He did clean up well.

As if he’d psychically heard her, he turned to smile at her, the gesture soft and warm. Blushing, she smiled back before she turned away, watching the rest of the club’s populace enjoy their night. She could just spot Skye, who had attracted a new harem of followers on the dancefloor, and she smiled to herself. She was always a girl who knew how to find admirers.

When her eyes landed on a man standing near the bathrooms, her heart sunk as her blood pressure rose. All the adrenaline that hadn’t already been pounding through her body was suddenly there and she stood up taller, her eyes focused on him. He was leaning against the wall next to the bathrooms, watching the girls who came out with an appraising eye, hunger clear in his gaze. Jemma’s eyes rolled to the back of her head as she cursed, then she took a breath and squared her shoulders.

Fitz appeared at her shoulder and handed her a beer, concern evident on her face. “What’s wrong?”

After chugging a third of her drink, she clinked her bottle against his. “Drink quickly.”

“Jemma, what’s—”

“Vampire.” He followed her gaze across the room, cursing under his breath. Grinning up at him, she said, “Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan already.”

He took a long pull of his beer, his eyes never leaving her face. “Somehow that doesn’t make me feel better.”

A fresh buzz was present in her system after she finished her beer and it was easy for her to pretend to stumble across the club. She knocked into a few people on her way to make it seem authentic, then purposefully collided with the vampire’s side. “I’m sorry!” she said, voice overly loud and high-pitched. The vampire steadied her, judging her worth as she steadied herself on her feet. He seemed to dismiss her and she couldn’t help but feel a bit offended; she assumed she was quite delicious. “I love this place!” she tried again. “Do you come here a lot?”

Hissecond appraisal went more favorably and there was a hint of interest in his cold eyes. “Let’s get you another drink,” he said, his arm resting across her shoulders.

A few feet away, where Fitz was pretending to text someone his phone, his hands stilled. Jemma fought back a groan. He wasn’t supposed to try to get her _drunker_. Was she not selling it? “Oh, I’ve…I’ve had lotsss,” she said, pointing at the special Ladies’ Night stamp on her left hand.

“I’ll show you my favorite,” he whispered in her ear, trying to lead her towards the bar.

This was not how it was supposed to be going. She’d heard of vampires having a thing for lushes before, but this was ridiculous. Her natural obstinacy aside, if the plan didn’t go as they had arranged, she was going to be left alone flirting with a vampire.

Planting her feet, she grabbed the vampire’s face and pulled him down for a kiss. There was an instant response, too much pressure, too much tongue, but she stood there and allowed it. Over his shoulder, she saw Fitz’s jaw drop as he gaped at her. Shrugging her shoulder helplessly, Jemma kept her eyes on Fitz as she took a few steps backward, hand searching for the wall.

The vampire was enthusiastic as he sucked at her lips and she realized with a suppressed shudder that he was probably just hungry. Guiding the two of them into the hallway where the bathrooms were, she wasn’t surprised to see that they weren’t the only couple. Amorous pairings littered the walls and only her heightened sense of perception helped her pick among them and the people actually there to use the restroom as she led her new suitor to the back of the corridor.

There was a small alcove that led to a supply room—it was shadowed even from the rest of the already dark hallway. As she tucked them away in there, the vampire’s lips insistent against hers, Jemma wondered how many unsuspecting girls had been fed on back here, had no idea what their future held…if they even had a future.

He finally broke away from her lips and Jemma let out the fakest breathy giggle she could manage until she felt his lips brush her neck. Her heart thudded in her chest. The logician in her was calculating how long it would take Fitz to get there, what she could do if he didn’t. There wasn’t much space to move here, and she could already tell that this vampire wasn’t nearly as strong as she was. The door behind her back felt like wood; she could always break it with his head.

Wriggling uncomfortably as his tongue settled against her throat, she extended one of her hands, hoping, praying that Fitz would arrive with the stake. Why didn’t dresses come with stake-sized pockets? Or any pockets?  

His mouth opened against her neck, but before she could think to fight, he was gone. She brushed off her face, blinking away the dust to see Fitz standing there, stake in his hand. His knuckles were white with how hard he clung to it, his chest heaving. “What were you thinking? Are you okay?” he insisted, reaching out to run his fingers over her neck.

“I’m alright,” she said, leaning into his touch. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment as she caught her breath.

“You were just supposed to get him down here,” Fitz said, wiping the lingering dust off the front of her dress.

Leaning back against the wall, Jemma didn’t stop him as his hands roamed across her stomach and hips, doing an increasingly thorough job. “He was supposed to lure _me_ down here. I did the only thing I could think of.”

Timid fingers brushed her hair back from her face as he said, “Next time, I make the plans.” As she nodded silently, Fitz put the stake back in his jacket pocket, zipping it up to keep it secure. Then he wrapped his hand around hers, keeping her close as they headed out of the hallway.

They’d barely made it six steps towards the bar when Skye found them. Her amusement was evident on her face. “So, what have you guys been up to?”

“Nothing,” Jemma said quickly.

“Getting a drink,” Fitz said. He dropped Jemma’s hand and she linked them behind her back demurely. “In fact, I think I want another.”

Jemma caught his eye and nodded. “Something stronger this time.”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Much stronger.”

As Fitz headed back towards the bar, Skye moved in next to Jemma, lacing their arms. “So you’re clearly having fun.” With her free hand, she reached up and swiped her thumb just under Jemma’s mouth. “Next time we’ll get you the long-wear lipstick.”

She knew her face was turning bright red. “Skye…it’s not…look, we just…” She fumbled for words and an excuse that didn’t involve vampires.

“Okay, whatever,” Skye said, rolling her eyes. “What happens at The Playground stays at The Playground, I guess. Ugh, I guess I didn’t want to listen to you two having sex all night anyway. Now that I’m thinking about it, I think I have an English comp paper due tomorrow…” As Jemma stared at her in disbelief, Skye shrugged. “Anyway, next time I’m out of the house for the day, consider the place yours, if you know what I mean.”

“Got it, thanks,” Jemma said. Leaning her head against Skye’s, she said, “You want to finish these drinks and get out of here? If you’re going to think of a decent excuse for tomorrow’s paper, you’ll need some time.”

Skye laughed into her ear, nuzzling the side of Jemma’s face. “I’ll have you know I’m very creative. Fitz!” she said as he came back with the drinks, taking her vodka cranberry from him before he could pass Jemma her scotch. “If you were a professor who didn’t know me, would you believe me if I said that my roommate got into a terrible car accident and I was nursing her back to health and that’s why my paper isn’t done?”

“You’re putting me into a car accident?”

“You’re fine, you’ll live, I’m your nurse.”

“No,” Fitz said, shaking his head. As Skye blew out a breath of frustration, Jemma eased herself away from her, drifting over towards Fitz. His free hand came instantly around her waist, and she leaned against his side, pillowing her head on his shoulder. She didn’t know if he realized he was gently stroking her back with his thumb, but it felt nice, intimate and comforting.

Jemma took a sip of scotch as Skye launched into another overblown tale to excuse her late paper. As Fitz looked down, raising an eyebrow at Jemma, she giggled, burying her face in his arm. Closing her eyes and listening to Fitz and Skye bickering over the relative merit of her excuse, Jemma savored the warmth that had settled in her chest. Despite the burn of the scotch as she took another sip, she knew it had nothing to do with the liquor.


	3. The Silence In Between

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Aislinn for betaing!

There was something calming about Fitz’s apartment. His couch was large enough that even when she stretched across it, her feet barely reached his lap on the other side; he didn’t seem to mind the way her toes bounced against his knee as she organized the day’s data from her lab on her tablet. His hand would rest on her ankle every few minutes as he intently waxed and lubed her crossbow as part of the regular maintenance. It was perhaps something she should do herself, but his fingers moved quickly and deftly over the string and barrel, knowing the condition just by touch.

The plan had been to go out that night; he had waited for her until after she had finished her last class and she had followed him back to his place. Her (well, Skye’s) dress for the night was hanging up on the back of his bedroom door. After ordering in some takeaway and watching “Jeopardy,” they had settled on the couch to wait for an appropriate time to leave. The later it got, the less she wanted to abandon the comfort of the moment.

Despite what Fitz may claim, it didn’t actually take her that long to get ready, but the idea of wandering out into the night to maybe find a vampire was already exhausting her. It was true that they had yet to have a hunt that didn’t end with a dead vampire, but that didn’t mean that it was a sure thing—it was just statistically probable.

The rush of adrenaline from a good patrol didn’t compare to the sense of contentment she was feeling lying across Fitz’s couch, stomach full of Chinese food, listening to his little hums and thoughtful murmurs as he worked. As she leaned over for her drink, he instinctively put his hand on her side, as if to make sure she didn’t roll off the sofa. Pleased at his support, even though she had perfect balance, Jemma took a bit longer than normal to pick up her water, reaching even farther to pick up a coaster to set under it.

His hand stayed on her hip as a piece of paper caught her eye. “What’s this?” she said, pulling the drawing out from under a stack of mail. The image looked almost familiar, like a memory long forgotten. It looked almost like an octopus, various tentacle-like arms attached to a round head.

Glancing over at her, he said, “Oh, that’s the brand.”

“Brand of what?” She was trying to think of what kind of brand would use something that looked so vaguely ominous and sinister, and not get distracted by the way his fingers were tracing the cables of the crossbow for one last check. “Is it like a fish and chips thing?”

Fitz frowned at her, setting the crossbow on the table. “No, Jemma, on the vampires.” He took the paper from her, looking at the drawing carefully. “I thought I did a pretty good job reproducing it.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Fitz.”

He stared at her for a minute, as if trying to gauge whether or not she was being serious. “Have you been paying attention to anything we’ve been doing?”

Rolling her eyes at him, she sat up, crossing her arms over her chest. “Yes, Fitz, I have.” She hated the way her voice sounded defensive. “Now would you please just explain what your little artwork is about?”

“The vampires—most, if not all the vampires—that you’ve slayed so far have had this brand on their arm,” he said, tapping the paper forcefully. At her silence, he rolled his eyes. “Have you really not noticed?”

Bristling at his tone, she snapped, “Excuse me, I’m a little bit busy actually trying not to _die_. I don’t have time to focus on nonessentials and memorize things like brands, I’m trying to kill them.” She flicked the paper lightly with her index finger. “This stuff is your job.”

“It’s like you don’t pay attention to anything. Do you even care at all?”

“The continuous near death doesn’t mean anything, clearly.” Huffing to herself, she fell back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. Then, after a moment, she said, “So, they all have that then? What is it?”

He handed it to her to study, her fingers brushing against his as she appreciated the crisp, smooth lines of his work. “Not sure, really. I’ve tried looking it up but I haven’t found anything. I’ve had to put pieces together from a couple of different vampires, so it might not be exact. From what I can tell in the short time before you dust them, it’s definitely a post-turn brand, not something they get when they’re still alive.”

Jemma chewed her lip thoughtfully. “A sign of membership? Like for a cult or gang or something?”

“Must be,” he said, rubbing his eyes. He sighed. “It might be something local because every search I do for it leads to a dead end, but how many local groups are large enough to need their own symbol?”

“Well, we have been very successful when it comes to patrolling,” she pointed out. When they went patrolling. “I had heard that it was very active in this area. That was one of the only reasons the Council let me go. Maybe it’s even more active than we had previously expected.” He made a small noise of frustration and Jemma sat up, gently stroking the back of his neck with the blunt end of her nails. His face instantly relaxed, lines of stress disappearing.

“Why don’t you ask the Council?” she suggested, wrinkling her nose. “I mean, they have far more time and resources to allocate to this sort of thing than we do. I bet they could help. And if they can’t find anything, then we’d know it’s local.”

He leaned into her touch for a minute before getting off the couch. “Yeah. Yeah, sure.”

Frowning at his sudden disinterest, Jemma picked up her tablet, trying to force herself to concentrate on her data. When Fitz returned, he had a handgun and small toolkit. “What’s all that about?”

“It’s to help you patrol.” He didn’t look at her, his eyes focused on his work.

“I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this, but bullets don’t kill vampires.”

Extremely unamused, he glared at her. “Thank you, Jemma. I’m making you a gun specifically to fire wooden bullets. The crossbow isn’t always useful or efficient and hand to hand is significantly more dangerous. Hopefully with this, you’ll be able to keep to a safer distance.”

“Oh.” She licked her lips slowly, wondering when her mouth had gone so dry. “Um…thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he grumbled. Snapping the empty magazine in place, he stared down the top of the barrel. “I’m thinking of calling it the Night Night Gun.” Pointing it at her dramatically, he lowered his voice in a way that he probably thought was intense, “As in, ‘Night night, vampires.’”

Snorting with laughter, she shook her head. “Of course. What else would you call it?”

He grinned at her, then picked up his screwdriver and set back to work. She propped her head up on her arm to watch him, engrossed by watching him manipulate the small parts of the gun, do calculations in his head and a small piece of scrap paper he had. She was so absorbed in watching him work, she was completely taken by surprise by her phone vibrating in her pocket.

“It’s just Skye,” she told him when he glanced at her curiously. “Wanted to know where we were.”

“Oh,” he said, and there was a layer of guilt coating the word. At least one of them felt bad for not patrolling tonight.

Before he could suggest that they got ready to go, Jemma typed back to Skye and said, “I told her that we got caught up doing something else and I’d see her when I got home.”

There was visible relief in his shoulders and he sagged back against the couch. “She’ll have to get drunk enough for all of us. If she isn’t already.” Jemma giggled and texted Skye to have a good time as Fitz said, “You know, she said something to me earlier. When we were in class.”

Instantly concerned, Jemma raised an eyebrow. “Apologies in advance. What did she say?”

His face was red, but he shrugged, trying to appear unaffected. “Uh, just…just asked when I was going to start taking you somewhere nice, stop leading you on by taking you to clubs all the time. Said you were a nice girl and you deserved better.” Jemma could feel her face burning up and wondered if she could cover the rent by herself if she killed her roommate. “I mean, she was just messing around,” Fitz said. “Not that that’s the kind of thing you should joke about in class with your professor…”

“I’ll talk to her,” Jemma assured him. “I’m really sorry she did that.”

“No, it’s—she’s fine. It’s obvious that she cares about you a lot.”

It was hard to feel touched by the obvious affection her roommate carried for her when she was so embarrassed. Twisting a lock of hair around her finger, she pursed her lips. “Maybe we should just tell her we’re dating.”

The screwdriver fell out of his hand as he stared at her. “We should tell her what now?”

“I mean—” Wondering if she shouldn’t have thought this through—or thought about it at all—Jemma fumbled for words. “She already thinks we’re seeing each other, after all, to some degree.” Jemma hadn’t given her any reason to think otherwise recently. “She might be less judgmental if she thought that was what we liked to do. For dates and stuff. We could say we go to dinner or whatever first. And we do other things. Like tonight. Takeaway. She doesn’t know that we didn’t do…any…anything else.”

Nodding overly enthusiastic, he said, “Right, got it. I mean, sure, she’s your roommate. Whatever you think will work best.”

“Alright then.” Jemma scrolled through her tablet just to have something to do with her hands and eyes, not even reading the words in front of her.

“I do take you out though.” When she frowned at him in confusion, Fitz choked out, “I mean, _hypothetically_. Like. As my. Fake girlfriend. Just. You can tell her that I take you out. Nice places. Not just to the club. Because I wouldn’t. I’d…I’d take you out.”

Unable to keep from smiling, Jemma pulled one of the couch’s throw pillows under her head, rolling on to her side and letting her legs fall into his lap. “Okay. I’ll tell her.”

He seemed content with that, pulling his mum’s knitted blanket off the back of the couch and throwing it across her before going back to the gun. Jemma closed her eyes, thinking for a moment that she was already somewhere nice. 

* * *

“Our conference call is in two minutes!” Fitz called to her from the living room.

Rolling her eyes, Jemma blotted her hair with her towel one last time before hanging it on the rack in the bathroom. Maybe _some people_ didn’t prioritize showering after patrol, but those people weren’t covered in body glitter and vampire remains. “It’ll be fine,” Jemma said as she padded into the kitchen, her slippers scuffing at the floor. “Skye probably isn’t coming home tonight—she said she was hoping to meet up with Trip. And if she does come home, we’ll just tell her we’re, I don’t know, talking to your mum or something. Time differences and what not.” That was the reason they were doing this conference call at 2 o’ clock in the bloody morning in the first place. What she wouldn’t give to tell Gonzales to screw off with his specific times for conferences. She could already hear him in her head. _Well, if you hadn’t decided to move to California…_

As she sat on the couch next to Fitz, his eyes were drawn over to her, seeming stuck on the bare part of her shoulder that had become exposed when the sleeve of her jumper had fallen down her arm. “Uh, but, wait, why are we talking to my mum?”

Tucking her hair behind her ears, Jemma shrugged. “I don’t know. You wouldn’t want me to meet your mum?”

“No, yeah, sure!” Scratching the back of his head, he leaned back against her couch. The tight shirt he’d worn to the club that night was just visible under the cardigan he’d thrown on top, ‘to be proper,’ he’d said, and she thought she could practically see his heart thrumming through the thin cotton. “She wants to meet you, actually.” Glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, he said, “I think she’d like you a lot.”

She barely had time to enjoy the burst of warmth in her chest that his words triggered when she heard the alert from Skype. Fitz accepted the call and the two of them moved closer to each other in tandem, their sides pressing together so that they could share the viewpoint of the camera.

When the screen loaded they could see Coulson, Gonzales, and Blake in what looked like Gonzales’ office; in the back Koenig was puttering around and doing whatever it was that Koenig did. Coulson smiled at her when the screen appeared to load on their side. Gonzales, of course, continued to frown. “I’m glad we could find time to meet,” he said.

“I hope it’s not too late,” Coulson interjected before his fellow Watcher’s Council member could continue. “We know that you’ve got important things going on.”

Gonzales looked annoyed at the interruption, but Jemma smiled before she said, “No, we’re alright. I don’t have any classes tomorrow and Fitz only has a late lab.”

Even as Fitz grumbled under his breath about children not doing their work, Coulson’s eyes remained on Jemma. They were 5,500 miles away and still she could feel him analyzing her, looking for weakness to support. It had only been a little over a week since she’d last spoken to him, but it seemed like he’d expected her to completely disintegrate since then. He opened his mouth, probably to ask her if she was eating her vegetables or getting enough sleep (yes and no, respectively), but Gonzales cut him off before he could even start. “It was about time that you checked in,” he said and Fitz ducked his head, embarrassed. Jemma wondered how long he had expected to go without checking in with the Council. What reason could he possibly have to ignore the Council? Especially now that they were actually patrolling.

“We actually got some information from the image you sent us,” Coulson said. Fitz raised a triumphant eyebrow at Jemma, who simply rolled her eyes. Gonzales snapped his fingers, which was apparently a signal for Koenig, as the assistant hurried over a small stack of papers. Coulson picked up the one on top, holding it up to the camera. A drawing that looked almost exactly like the one Fitz had sketched was displayed to them; it had clearly been photocopied from old paper, the ink fading in places.

“This symbol has been known to be associated with the group known as Hydra,” Gonzales explained. “From the information we’ve gathered, we’ve determined that they originated as associates of the Third Reich.”

Unable to temper the excitement in his voice, Coulson said, “These were the vampires Peggy and Captain America fought back in the day.”

Jemma perked up at that, as she did with all things associated with Peggy Carter. “Really?”

“All the information we have points to the organization being completely dismantled after the war,” Gonzales said. He looked utterly displeased at the continuous interruptions, but that wasn’t much different than his usual expression. “We have no record of encountering any member of the group after World War II ended. There were some rumors, but that’s all conspiracy theory, so I’ll let Blake handle that.”

Blake glared at Gonzales before facing Fitz and Jemma. “ _My_ information shows that there have been talks about the group appearing every decade or so. To be fair, these are mostly secondary and unreliable primary sources, but they are recurring at a fairly consistent pace.”

Fitz rubbed his eyes and she could feel his sigh against her body, the rise and fall of his shoulder against her own. “So we’re fighting Neo-Nazis, that’s what you’re saying?”

Holding up a hand, Coulson said, “Now, we’re unsure about that. It could be just a symbol that was appropriated by another group for the potential history and status that it afforded. Maybe it’s something like lore among vampires, we just don’t know.”

“It could be one lone member that survived and is now trying to resurrect the movement,” Gonzales suggested. “This is all we can tell you.”

Pursing her lips, Jemma nodded. “Well, thank you. We’ll do what we can.”

Her change in tone was evident to Fitz, who shot her an odd look. “We’ll definitely see what we can do with this information. So far they’ve been following a specific pattern, so it does point to a group, right?”

She made a noise of agreement. “It’s likely that there’s communication, though it may not be as official as an organization, because there tends to always be at least one vampire at our designated patrol sites, and it doesn’t seem like a competition between vampires where one might be infringing on another’s hunting territory. We’ve only seen two together once—”

“—and they were clearly working together,” Fitz finished, gesturing widely with his hands. “Maybe it’s like a…a club or something, but I think it’s clear that there’s some sort of cooperation between the vampires.” When he set his hands back down, one was on her knee and she felt frozen in place, not wanting to move under his warm palm.

Catching her breath and forcing herself to ignore his touch, Jemma said, “What remains to be seen is whether they begin to change their patterns now that we’ve been killing them all. I’m not sure if they’ll assume the Slayer is in town, but if there is some sort of…group or whatever, they’ll surely notice the continued absence of members and perhaps adjust their hunting.”

As Fitz clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth in agreement, Gonzales laughed. “Well, this is certainly different. You two are getting along much better now than when you originally left.”

“Yeah,” Blake said, rolling his eyes. “Now they’re actually talking.”

Cheeks flaring with heat, Jemma avoided the gaze of her mentors, staring over Coulson’s head. She couldn’t help but notice how loud his silence was on the matter. “We’re learning to work together quite well, I think.”

“Agreed,” Fitz said, his voice strong and professional, and Jemma mentally chastised herself for feeling disappointed when he moved his hand from her knee and on to his lap. “It’s been going well.”

“Keep it up,” Gonzales said. “We’ll be looking forward to hearing your updates when you _check in more often._ ”

As Fitz squirmed uncomfortably next to her side, Coulson said, just as pointedly, “And get some rest. We’ll talk to you soon.”

They said their goodbyes and Fitz closed Skype. “Well,” he said, stretching back against the couch. “I think that went as well as can be expected.”

“That was bloody useless,” Jemma said, rolling her eyes. Glancing over at the wall clock hanging in the kitchen, she wondered how much sleep she would actually get if she still tried to get to the lab at a decent time tomorrow.

“What are you talking about?”

“They didn’t tell us anything, Fitz!” Sighing, she pulled her wet hair off her neck and up into a messy bun. “Yes, there’s a history to the symbol, but it doesn’t tell us anything about it now.”

He frowned at her. “You love research.”

“When it’s helpful!” She pulled her legs up onto the couch, hugging tightly to her knees. “All we know is that this might be the remnants of the group from World War II or maybe just one vampire or not really associated with them at all and just using the symbol. How does that help us?”

“I, for one, think it’s pretty important to know if we’re searching for Neo-Nazis. And it’s consistent with the vampires we’ve slayed, almost all of them have been young white males.”

“We’re looking for predators in college nightclubs, Fitz, that would be our targeted demographic no matter what.” As he rolled his eyes, she said, “I just don’t think that we’ve learned anything of any use. How large do their groups tend to be? How insular? What are their…recruitment policies? How did Hannah fit into it? Those are the things that help me find them and destroy them.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and she could practically see the wall come up between them as he stared down at his lap. “I think you’re being too hard on them. There’s only so much they can do.”

“Well, they could stop demanding so many things from us if they’re just going to provide us nothing,” she spat. “Insisting that we check in, with what? To tell them that their non-information wasn’t helpful at all?”

Getting off the couch in a huff, he shook his head. “You think you can do it all by yourself! Like you’re better than everyone and all everyone does is get in your way!”

“I don’t think—”

“You don’t even want to do this!”

The accusation stung and she stood up to face him. “Hey, I’m the one out there every night putting my life on the line to fight your…Hydra vampires! In heels! What more do I have to do?”

“You ran away!” He ran his hands anxiously through his hair. “You ran halfway across the bloody planet and wonder why the Council isn’t more cooperative with you! They don’t have another choice except to keep you on as the Slayer, obviously.”

“Not until the next one is called, at least.”

“Oh, don’t joke about that,” he said. He was visibly distressed, but didn’t seem to realize that she wasn’t joking. “You’re brilliant and talented and so skilled, but so unreasonable sometimes!”

Jemma clenched her jaw hard. “I don’t owe them anything.”

Laughing bitterly, Fitz said, “If you think you can do this alone, you’re welcome to try.”

She bristled at his complete dismissal. “You don’t have to be here, you know.”

“Someone had to come with you.”

“Well, if you don’t want to be here, then don’t. I’ll find someone else.”

He opened and closed his mouth several times, as if completely unsure what to say. “Well, you know what, I don’t want to be right here. Not right now.” He grabbed his jacket and keys in a rush and before Jemma could even fully absorb what had happened, he was out her door.

It shook her to her core, the resounding sound of the door shutting behind him—closing, not slamming, because it was half three in the morning and even in his anger he was still conscientious of her neighbors. She wasn’t sure how things had escalated so quickly, how they could say so many things that neither of them had planned on. Even more disturbing was the feeling that so much had gone unsaid.

Both petulant and sad, she locked the door behind him. It would have been satisfying to turn off all the lights before retreating, but she didn’t want Skye to come home to a dark apartment if she did decide to come home that night. Instead, she shut the laptop screen, hiding herself from the prying eyes of London the best she could.

Apparently, the Watcher’s Council _was_ wrong about everything—she and Fitz hadn’t improved at all.

* * *

Her night was full of tossing and turning, sleeping restlessly despite her exhaustion. She told herself she was overtired as she woke up at 7:00 and then 7:30 and then 8:30 before finally dragging herself out of bed at 9:00. There didn’t seem to be any point in trying to force sleep and the kitchen had coffee, once she made it.

Skye even noticed her somber demeanor when she emerged from her room sometime before noon. As she poured herself a cup of coffee, she groaned. “Ugh, I didn’t finish doing my pre-lab for Fitz’s class. You think he’ll just let me slide?”

“Doubt it,” Jemma mumbled. She stared resolutely at her laptop screen, determined to open one of her many work emails, maybe even read some and reply.

Ducking into her field of vision, Skye frowned at her. “You okay? Something wrong?”

“I’m fine.” She pushed back from the dining room table and chugged down the rest of her coffee before setting her mug in the dishwasher. “I’m going to head to campus and see if I can get some lab time. I’ll see you later, Skye. Have a good class.”

Her attention span didn’t improve any once she was in the lab. Usually science was the one thing she could put above all else, but she was finding it frustratingly difficult to keep her mind focused. As always, she had a lot to do to work on her dendrotoxin, but all of the simulations she was running were coming up with errors and even the numbers she was calculating in her mind kept telling her that they did not compute.

After only an hour, she decided to take a break; some of her specimens had to sit and cultivate and while there was plenty else she could be doing, she wasn’t in the right mindset to do it. Set adrift, she ended up at the grocery store a few blocks away from the campus, aimlessly shopping. She hadn’t eaten lunch and she wasn’t necessarily hungry so much as acknowledging the human requirement to eat.

An idea occurred to her as she wandered past the deli and after purchasing a few items and making a short stop back at her office, she found herself at one of Caltech’s engineering buildings. Fitz’s office was on the third floor and she hesitated a moment, gripping the plastic shopping bag tightly in one hand before knocking.

“Come in then,” he called and she poked her head in. He was at his desk, pouring over what she could only assume was the pre-lab that Skye hadn’t finished. It was intriguing, watching him actually be a professor—so much of their time together was spent on him working and doing research for her that the idea of him actually doing his job seemed like daydream that Skye had shared with her.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said, hesitating in the doorway. He never invited anyone inside out of habit, but she felt uncomfortable inviting herself.

Glancing up sharply at her, Fitz ran his hand through his hair. To her relief, he seemed less angry at seeing her and more uncomfortable, even embarrassed. “Uh, no, you’re not interrupting.”

She tried to smile at him, then held up the plastic bag. “I brought a peace offering.” He raised his eyebrows in interest and she allowed herself to enter, closing the door behind her. “It’s, uh, well, I think I’ve made this sandwich for you before? Prosciutto and buffalo mozzarella—”

“With your homemade pesto aioli?” he said, voice rising with excitement. He stood up from his desk, meeting her in the middle of the room.

As she handed him the paper-wrapped sandwich, she shrugged. “Sort of. My office isn’t really equipped to make pesto aioli, but I did my best.”

He seemed touched by the carefully wrapped sandwich, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, so, I don’t have to be in the lab for another hour, if you wanted to, uh, I mean, unless you have something else to—”

“I’m completely free,” she said and he returned the smile she sent him tenfold.

After grabbing each of them a bottle of water from his mini-fridge, he sat down next to her. She was slightly surprised that he had chosen one of the guest seats rather than his own chair behind the desk, but it was comforting to feel the tension between them begin to melt. The warmth of him at her side was heartening. “I hope it’s okay,” she said after he took the first bite. “I did the best I could on short notice.”

The small noise of pleasure he made in the back of his throat made her blush and he shook his head. “Still the best sandwich I’ve ever had.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes, Fitz scarfing down his sandwich faster than she would advise. He was halfway through when he took a long drag of his water and looked at her cautiously out of the corner of his eye. “You know…” He coughed, then licked his lips. “You know I want to be here, right?”

This was a conversation she wanted to avoid, but she thought it might be impossible to do so without making it more awkward. “I know you want to be a Watcher.”

“No.” He shook his head, staring at her until she looked into his eyes. They were an almost overwhelming blue and her heart stuttered in her chest the longer she held his gaze. “No, I want to be here. I could be a Watcher back in London, just be the weapons guy again, still be working on the same projects there as I do here.”

She nodded, unscrewing and rescrewing the cap on her water bottle. “I guess you’d always have a shot with the next Slayer.”

Leg bouncing anxiously, he said, “Wish you wouldn’t say things like that.” He sighed and shook his head. “Look, the point is that I want to be here, you know, with you. I could go back to London anytime and they’d send you, I don’t know, Koenig or someone. Hunter even.” He laughed at the face she made. “But I do want to be here.”

“I’m glad,” she said, smiling shyly at him. “I want you here too. I just—I know being a Watcher is important to you.”

He stared at her for a long time, an unidentifiable change coming over his face. “You know my dad was a Watcher, right? Part of the Council, at least, May and Coulson were together so long that he never got his own Slayer.”

Jemma nodded; she’d been told this before he’d become her Watcher.

“He died, actually, helping May and Coulson out with research on something,” he said. She could hear his throat tightening around the words and couldn’t help but reach out to take his hand, letting her fingers slide between his.

“I know, Fitz,” she said and wondered for a moment if she made the right decision until he tightened his hand around hers.

Licking his lips, he said, “They took care of me, the Watcher’s Council—me and my mum. Always made sure that there was enough food on the table, helped get me into good schools, which were the reason I got to university so quickly. Coulson and May would stop by, make sure I was doing alright. Even Gonzales, sometimes. I didn’t—I didn’t really have any friends, even back then, but the Council was sort of another place to go so I wouldn’t be so alone.”

A lump formed in her throat, growing larger and larger at each word. “I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah, they try not to spread it around so much. I mean, most Watchers are familial anyway, but…well, it makes a different, obvious preference. A lot of people thought that’s why I was put with you to come here, thought I was being treated as the favorite, getting a Slayer at my age. But I’ve been in training since I was a kid and we’re a lot alike and, well, I told them I thought we’d get on pretty well.”

Jemma tried to imagine the Fitz she had first met back in London, who would barely look at her instead of tinkering with his toys, who only spoke two words to her on their entire flight to LA, and wondered why he had thought that. Still, she smiled. “Well, yeah, I think we do.”

Satisfied, he nodded. He flattened his palm against hers, seeming to compare their hands together. It surprised her how big his palm was, how long his fingers were. “It’s just important to me, to be doing what my dad did. To make them all proud of me,” he whispered.

“I understand, I really do.” She stroked her thumb against his, her body going warm when he slid his fingers through hers again, cupping her hand tightly. “I don’t want you to think that it’s not important to me too.”

There was a knock on his office door and Fitz immediately dropped her hand, as if they had been caught at something. “Professor Fitz, are you there?” came a plaintive voice from the other side of the wall.

When Jemma raised a questioning eyebrow at him, he shook his head. Leaning in to whisper in her ear, he said, “Syllabus says I _might_ be in my office before lab. No promises. Today, I’m not here.”

Ignoring the electricity that went down her spine at the feeling of his lips brushing against her ear, she fixed him with a mischievous grin and whispered back, “Sounds good to me.”

Fitz made no move to distance himself from her, even though she knew that leaning like that must be an uncomfortable position. Taking the opportunity, she lay her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, enjoying the now familiar warmth and smell of his body.

His lack of objection pleased her and she smiled even wider when he said softly, “Thanks for the sandwich.”

“Stick around, there’s more where that came from.”

His fingers skimmed over the back of her hand before he wrapped his hand around it, holding her gently. “Yeah, well, I think I might.” 


	4. We Play Dumb (We Know Exactly What We're Doing)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to ardentaislinn for the beta!

Skye was in the middle of curling her hair when Jemma leaned against the doorway of the hall bathroom. “Can I borrow that perfume you were wearing the other day? The one in the purple bottle?”

“Yeah, of course.” She searched through the semi-organized sink cabinet—semi-organized in that Skye could find everything and no one else ever could. Making a noise of triumph, she held out the bottle to Jemma. Skye watched curiously as she spritz herself.

“What’s wrong?” Jemma asked, setting the perfume on the bathroom counter. She twitched self-consciously under Skye’s gaze. “Do I look alright?”

Shaking her head, Skye said, “You look great. Are you and Fitz going out again tonight?”

She tried to shrug nonchalantly. “Yeah, so?”

“You guys have gone out almost every day for the past, like, week and a half.” Skye raised an eyebrow at her before turning back to the mirror. “I thought I was the irresponsible partier around here.”

“Oh, don’t worry, you still are.” Jemma laughed as Skye kicked her playfully. “We’re just having a good time, you know?” she said, chewing her bottom lip. “I mean, I am technically a college student too.”

“Getting her second PhD! And you’re a professor!”

“Well, I never did this kind of thing when I was getting my first one, or in undergrad, not really. And you know Fitz didn’t.”

Snorting loudly as she curled a lock of her hair, Skye said, “I can imagine Fitz at maybe chess club, but not a dance club.”

“Don’t tease,” she said, deciding not to mention that Fitz had been nationally ranked in Scotland since he was five.

Skye glanced at her out of the corner of her eye for a minute, clearly debating whether she wanted to say anything. “So, things are going okay with you and Fitz, right? I mean, I know he’s my professor so if not, I couldn’t technically do anything, but I will absolutely kick his ass if necessary.”

Despite the redness that dusted across her cheeks, Jemma laughed. “What would make you think that anything wasn’t okay with me and Fitz? I mean, we had a spat the other day, but we got over it.”

“Oh, nothing, couples fight, I know, the guy is clearly in love with you. I just wanted you to know the offer was on the table.”

There was an exceptionally odd fluttering sensation in her chest and Jemma ignored it. “Appreciated, but I think it’s entirely unnecessary for you to get kicked out of school for assaulting a faculty member. We have a good time together. He takes me to very nice places.”

Turning her entire body towards Jemma, Skye looked at her oddly. Her expression of confusion turned to one of curiosity when she said, “So have you banged yet?”

“Skye!”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s a no.”

“He…he is your professor!”

“He’s your boyfriend. And he’s got a cute butt, I can admit that,” she said, spraying her newly curled locks with hairspray. “He’s got a chili pepper on Rate My Professor.”

A roaring sound echoed in her ears as she stared at Skye, feeling completely disoriented. “Really?”

“You do too, obviously. And I guess I get it. I mean, he’s not my type, cute butt or not, but most of the people that go to Caltech are geeks like you and if geek is your thing, I suppose he’s like…America’s Next Top Geek. And he’s definitely the hottest professor. Other than you,” she said, winking at Jemma. “You’re the real hottest, of course.”

Forcing a shaky smile, Jemma said, “Good, I’m so glad that this is what our educational system is being built on. Chili peppers.”

Cocking an eyebrow at her, Skye said, “Now that I think about it, we have a paper due in, like, two weeks. So if you were thinking about getting your, you know, physics on, maybe wait until he’s about to grade some papers.”

Jemma scoffed and shook her head. “Skye, I’m not going to sleep with Fitz so you get a better grade on your paper.”

“Can’t wait that long, huh?” When Jemma made a strangled noise in the back of her throat, Skye laughed. “Hello, I’ve gone out with you two and hung out with you and just been in your general presence. I’ve never gone out with you guys and _not_ wondered if you weren’t going to go at it right there in the club. Just get laid already.” Jemma opened her mouth, searching for some sort of protest. She couldn’t find any words as Skye said, “Just save all the really dirty stuff for when my paper is due, get him nice and distracted.”

Luckily, she was interrupted by a knock at the door, saving herself from trying to come up with a desperately needed response. She hurried to the door to open it for Fitz, giving herself a single moment to take a deep breath and hope her face would fade to a slightly dimmer red.

To her great pleasure, he was wearing the leather jacket that she liked, the one that highlighted the width of his shoulders. She wanted to run her hands over the soft brown material, the thoughts in her mind undoubtedly proving Skye’s point about…something. Possibly everything. He smiled at her as he walked in, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. “Hey.”

“Hi,” she said softly, smiling back.

“Hey, loser!” Skye shouted from the bathroom.

Rolling his eyes, Fitz shouted back, “You know I’m still your professor, right? I determine your grade.”

Half-stepping out into the hallway, Skye grinned playfully. “Yeah, but if you fail me, Jemma will stop going out with you. Girl code.”

He looked at Jemma for confirmation and she just shrugged. Sighing in exasperation, Fitz narrowed his eyes at Skye. “So are you coming with us tonight, or what?”

“I will not be third-wheeling it tonight, no,” she said, as if that were the obvious answer.

Jemma couldn’t help but notice that Fitz’s shoulders relaxed a bit and the lines disappeared from his brow. “Got a date then?”

“Not yet.” Skye winked at him and disappeared back into the bathroom. “It’s early. I plan to by the end of the night.”

“Right.” Fitz widened his eyes at Jemma, then nudged her arm gently with his shoulder. “You, uh, you ready to go?”

Nodding quickly, she told him, “Let me grab some things.” Her purse was waiting on top of her desk and she dropped by the bathroom to say goodbye to Skye.

“I hope you two have _fun_ ,” Skye said, drawing the syllable out and batting her eyelashes.

Ignoring the return of the warm glow on her cheeks, Jemma just said, “You too. Have fun with, uh…”

“Whoever calls first!” Skye finished with a smirk.

After Jemma grabbed her keys from the hook next to the door, Fitz followed her out. His hand slid around her lower back, his palm settling comfortably at her hip. “You look beautiful,” he said as the elevator door slid open.

Leaning against the back wall of the elevator, she smiled at him demurely. It felt like her heartbeat was echoing inside of the enclosed space. “Thank you.”

The poor overhead lighting of the elevator cast him in shadows, sending his cheekbones into sharp relief. She swallowed hard as she let her eyes trace down his body. She stopped when she spotted the slight bulge in the pockets of his jacket: stakes. It was a stark reminder of why they were there. No matter what she told Skye to cover up her lies, she was not going on a date with her boyfriend. She was going patrolling with her Watcher. The best case scenario for the end of the night—the ultimate goal that she was working towards—was more dead vampires. There was nothing else that she was allowed to want.

When the doors opened up, she brushed past him, but couldn’t bring herself to pull away when he took her hand. “Come on,” she said, lacing her fingers through his. “Let’s go to work.”

* * *

She stood by a nearby table while Fitz went to go force his way to the front of the bar. Instinctively, she scanned the area, but no one was standing out to her or setting off her senses. Just when she was starting to let her guard down, a man approached her table: he was in his late 20s, tall, well-built. He was her standard type. “Hey,” he shouted over the music. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Got one coming, thanks,” she said, eyeing him carefully. He didn’t seem completely wasted yet. If Skye were here, she’d consider that an automatic ten points. Worth talking to at least.

“That’s cool. You come here a lot?”

She had to hold back a laugh at the tired line. “Only my second time. What about you, stake out Ladies’ Night often?”

He didn’t seem to catch her sarcasm; perhaps he had been distracted by all the strobe lighting. “It’s a cool place, good to meet people.”

“I bet it is.” She couldn’t help but think that Skye would be proud of her if she brought a guy like this home for a night and made sure he left the next morning. He was generically attractive, but all Jemma felt was amused.

He opened his mouth to say something else that was going to be undoubtedly hilariously in its triteness, but stopped midway through the first word. Jemma was confused until she felt an arm around her waist. Instantly she knew it was Fitz, the spicy aroma of his cologne enticing her to breathe deep. She molded perfectly into Fitz’s side, and when she looked over at him, he was glaring daggers at their visitor.

The man left without saying a word, at least understanding where he was clearly not wanted. Jemma arched an eyebrow at Fitz and he mirrored the expression. “What?” he said brusquely. “Did you want to talk to him?”

“No.” She nodded to the martini in his hand. “Is that for me?” He handed it over without a word and she took a sip, hoping the gin would calm the frenetic feeling in her gut. “You never get anything for yourself.”

He shifted noticeably off to the side, far enough so that they were no longer pressing skin to skin. “Yeah, well, it’s not ‘Watcher’s Night.’” The word sent an uncomfortable pang through her chest. “Plus, I don’t think we should be drinking while we patrol.”

Jemma didn’t answer for a moment, focusing instead on her drink. “Is that what we’re doing? Patrolling?”

His lips were a tight line and he seemed unsure of the answer even with his steady, “Yes.”

Nodding to herself, she threw back the rest of the martini and started walking. “Perimeter check, then.”

They did a lap around the room, sticking close to the exterior walls. Fitz was never more than a few inches behind her, his hand resting solidly on her ribcage in a way that felt far more possessive than protective.

The work proved uneventful and unproductive, neither of them spotting any hint of vampires as they scanned across the crowds as the various tables, booths, and benches, and across the dance floor. When they ended up back at the bar, Jemma announced, “I’m going to get another drink.”

Fitz made a small noise of protest as she slipped away from him and over to the bar. As with any other popular night, there was a wait until she could get what she needed, but eventually she got a bottle of beer and went in search of her Watcher.

Fitz had found a spare space of wall and seemed to be intent on trying to make himself one with it. Licking a drop of beer from her lips, Jemma weaved her way through the crowds, then squeezed into the space next to Fitz, deftly positioning herself so that she was between him and the wall. He seemed surprised at this sudden change and she smirked at him, wondering when he was finally going to understand that she was the Slayer.

He seemed to forget too often.

After taking a drink of beer, she offered him the bottle; he took it like a challenge and she watched his throat intently as he chugged down long gulps. The bottle was half empty when he gave it back, but still she nursed it. She was mesmerized by the way their breathing was synched, staring at his heaving chest, watching as his shirt just brushed against the fabric of her dress every time they took a breath.

“We should dance,” he said, voice far rougher than it usually was this early in the night. Her eyes flicked up to his, and though she was not looking for his reasoning, he said, “Different perspective, might see something from over there.”

Simply nodding, she swallowed down the rest of the beer and allowed him to take her hand and lead her down the stairs into the pit of the dance floor. For a well-trained Watcher, Fitz was uniquely uncoordinated and relied on her to set the rhythm. One of her hands rested on his shoulder as they imitated the rest of the crowd, trying to blend in as they scanned for vampires.

The dance floor was packed for Ladies’ Night. Jemma’s hand fell down over his shoulder and on to his back as she slid closer to him to avoid the thrashing bodies around them. She wondered if she had surprised him; he locked eyes with her for a moment before looking out over the crowd again. It was too difficult in the darkness, with the flashing lights, to get a good read on him, but she could see the way the muscles in his jaw clenched, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.

When his hand landed on her lower back to guide them into a slow turn so that he could survey more of the room, she realized that she was not patrolling the crowd at all. Her eyes had instead been intensely focused on his lips. Relieved knowing that the redness on her cheeks would not be visible, she stared out over his shoulder. The club was packed with people—it was a blur of bodies, none more noticeable than anyone else.

Fitz caught her eye, quirking his eyebrow and she shook her head to signal her lack of progress, at least in the area of vampires. He nodded slowly and she felt an uncategorizable thrill run up her spine as his eyes explored her face, his tongue absentmindedly darting out to wet his lips.

The DJ spun into a new song and Jemma felt the heavy base deep in her core when Fitz’s other hand curled around her hip. As a logical person, she knew that she should break his stare; looking at each other was no way to patrol, no way to achieve their goal. Unless, of course, the goal had changed. Instead, she leaned into Fitz’s grip, encouraging him to sway with her.

Jemma could no longer hear the beat; her body moved of its own volition, urged into a rhythm based on the sensation of Fitz’s hands on her hips and his body pressed to hers. In her heels, her arm slipped easily around his neck. She held loosely to him but still there was no space between them. She was reminded of how soft the leather of his jacket was as it brushed against her bare skin; it made the contrast of his stubble against her cheek all the more noticeable, sending shivers down her spine.

Tightening her arm around his neck, she pulled herself even closer so she was flush against him. Jemma could practically feel his sweat on her skin. One of his arms wrapped around her waist, dragging her hips against his and she was grateful that he wouldn’t be able to hear her low moan over the pounding music. They were not so much dancing as moving back and forth into each other, Jemma biting her lip and stifling her groans against his neck.

“Jemma,” he panted in her ear. Tightening her fingers against the leather of his jacket, she dragged her lips against the skin of his neck as an answer. Fitz groaned before repeating her name, stronger this time. “Jemma!”

When she simply clung to him, he took firm hold of her hips and spun her around so that her back was pressed against his chest. Gulping down air, she leaned back against him, her head sprawled out across his shoulder. She could feel what was and what definitely was not a stake pressing against her back.

He moaned against her neck, and the feeling of his panting breath against her skin only made her writhe in his hands. “Jemma, Jemma, no,” he murmured, trying to hold her still. “Jemma, look.”

She had to blink several times to get her vision to focus, other senses much more active at the moment. Staring straight ahead, she finally saw what he had and a new shot of adrenaline surged through her: a group of vampires, at least five, walking past the bar. They were escorted by a bouncer into one of the VIP rooms, separated from Fitz, Jemma, and the rest of the patrons by a solid black door.

A flare of disappointment burned in Jemma’s chest as she turned her head to say, “Let’s go to work.”

As they left the dance floor and made their way closer to the bar, Fitz was mumbling various ideas into her ear, though Jemma was mostly tuning him out. She dragged him over to a dark corner not far from the entrance to the VIP room, pushing him up against the wall. As he stared at her, wide-eyed, she reached into his jacket pockets for the stakes. “Can you go distract the bouncer for me?” she said.

“I—well, yeah, probably, but—you’re not going in there alone!”

“There was only like five of them, I can handle it.”

“There are _six_ , and it’s a stupid plan,” he spat, glaring at her.

“Noted.” Holding both stakes in one hand, she kissed his cheek softly. “Can you go distract the bouncer now?”

His continued objections were evident in the way he scowled at her, but he pressed his lips to her temple before brushing past her and heading over to the bar. Jemma closed her eyes and counted to a hundred, hoping that by the time she got there, her body would stop tingling and start doing what she required of it.

The sound of breaking glass and shouting even louder than the music pulled the bouncer away from his post outside of the VIP room. She mentally thanked Fitz as she watched the bouncer walk quickly towards the bar, speaking into a walkie talkie—he was probably calling in reinforcements, only giving her a few minutes.

After settling the stakes within her grip, she tried for the doorknob: unlocked. Amateurs. When she slipped inside, six pairs of vampire eyes stared back at her. She was sure all of them could hear her pulse firing in her chest. “What’s this?” one of them said, eyeing her hungrily. “First course?”

Not wanting to lose the element of surprise with a witty quip, Jemma just threw herself on the closest vampire, the stake stabbing into his chest before any of them realized what was happening. She was almost to her feet when two more were on her; she kicked one away while introducing the other to Mr. Pointy—and really, she had to stop letting Fitz name things.

The VIP room was only about 15 feet by 15 feet, couches lining the wall and a few tables in the middle. There wasn’t much room to fight, for anyone to escape. Of the four remaining vampires, three of them surrounded her teeth bared. She slashed at one, earning herself a punch in the stomach, but she refused to have the wind knocked out of her. If they thought she was the first course, then that meant they were just waiting for a buffet of young, unknowing women to be fed to them like cattle.

She was stronger than them, in more ways than they could understand, and she shoved one of her stakes into a chest before spinning and doing that to another. The third tackled her and she wrestled with him for a bit before pinning him to the floor, forcing the stake into his heart with both hands.

After a quick calculation, her eyes ticked up to see the last vampire, his hand on the door, as if he was trying to escape her. There was a lighter on the table, she could see out of her peripheral vision, and she wasn’t sure if she was more offended that he thought he could get away or that they were going to smoke inside a building. She considered setting him on fire just for that, watching him burn an agonizing death, but decided she didn’t want to pay the dry cleaning bill to get the smoke damage out of Skye’s dress.

Instead she threw her second stake at him, hitting right on target and he stared at her in shock before he exploded into dust.

The anger was still boiling in her blood as she gathered her stakes and left the room as stealthily as possible; the bouncer was nowhere to be found and she tried to convince herself not to find him. She knew he wasn’t a vampire and she had no proof that he knew what was going on in that room. Instead, she searched for Fitz. There was no longer any drama at the bar and when she questioned the bartender, he told her that a few guys got thrown out for fighting.

It didn’t take long for her to search him out—he was waiting for her by the car. “You got into a fight?” she said incredulously.

He threw his arms over his head. “You told me to distract the bouncer!”

There was already some swelling around his eye and her heart lurched when she saw blood leaking through his shirt. Gently resting her fingers against his face, she whispered, “Are you okay?”

“’m fine,” he said, but he leaned into her touch. “I’m a Watcher, Jemma, I had to go through training too.”

Deciding not to point out that her training was significantly more challenging and longer and involved superior human strength, she simply nodded. “I know. Let’s go get you cleaned up, alright?”

“Did you get the vampires?”

Running her hand through his short curls, she smiled at the contented look on his face. “I did.”

“Okay. Good,” he said, trying to cover up a wince at what was most assuredly pain in his face.

Affection burst through her and she leaned against him to gently kiss his cheek. Fishing his car keys out of the pocket of his jeans, she said, “C’mon. Let’s go home.”


	5. It Takes Me All The Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the additional tags
> 
> Thank you to Aislinn for betaing

Back at Fitz’s apartment, Jemma ordered him to sit at the dining room table while she fetched the med kit from atop of his refrigerator. “It’s really not that bad,” he said, wincing as he shrugged out of his leather jacket and threw it over the back of one of the chairs. “You probably need it more than me.”

“I feel great actually.” She set the kit on top of the table and threw on some latex gloves, then swatted his knee. “Sit. You have a Slayer with medical knowledge, use her.”

Rolling his eyes, Fitz perched at the edge of the table, as if being higher than her would make him feel less at her mercy. There were a few minor cuts and bruises on his face, probably from being punched, and she spread Neosporin on them with a q-tip before reaching for the hem of his t-shirt. It was amazingly soft, she couldn’t help but notice. “I need you to take this off,” she said, and her voice was barely over a whisper.

Fitz nodded once. He shrugged out of the shirt carefully, trying not to jostle his shoulder too much. Despite his lanky frame, his muscles were well-defined, and it was hard not to remember that he had trained for years before she had appeared in his life. Distracted by the paleness of his skin, she hadn’t realized she’d zoned out until he cleared his throat. “Deeper than you thought?”

“It’s nice,” she said, then ducked her head to avoid his eyes. Actually looking at the wound on his chest, she said, “Um, I mean, it doesn’t really look bad at all, actually.” She quickly cleaned the wound with antiseptic, patching him up with a thick pad of gauze and medical tape to keep the bacteria out. Her hands were firm, yet gentle, trying not to cause him any undue pain.

Once the bandage was secure, she indulged herself in a careful examination of his body. Both of his hands were white from gripping the edge of the table, but she could see red scratches from the punches he had thrown. The evidence of his skills made her breath shorten. The muscles in his arms twitched as she gently coated the tops of his fingers with Neosporin to help them heal faster and she was a bit amazed at how long the digits were.

Her visual exam extended up his arms, noting the wiry musculature that his jumpers and jackets usually hid. A bruise was already starting to purple on the outside of his left bicep—there wasn’t much that could be done for that and on impulse, she leaned in and just brushed her lips over the spot. If anyone asked, it could almost be considered not a kiss, but she heard Fitz’s sharp intake of breath and couldn’t deny her own intentions.

After thoroughly examining the deltoid and supraspinatus muscles in his shoulders, she was faced with his throat and a choice: up or down. After a hypnotizing moment of watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard, she decided to go down. His chest wasn’t particularly large or well-defined, but when she placed her hands on it, she could feel his heart thundering behind his ribcage and wondered if hers was anywhere near as deafening.

Instinctively, his stomach muscles clenched under his touch and Jemma’s first thought was to pull back. He seemed to relax consciously, leaning into her fingers as she traced the ridges of his hipbones, the treasure trail she hadn’t known him to possess. Following it to the line of his jeans, she knew that was a natural stopping point, but she didn’t want to stop. The visible bulge in the crotch of his pants was communicating the same to her.

She realized then that Fitz hadn’t said anything for several minutes at that point. Fitz—who she normally couldn’t get to shut up—had been rendered mute by her touch. When she focused back on his face, his eyes were an almost cobalt blue, dark and captivated. It was almost too intense, to be the focus of such passion, but even as her heart stuttered in her chest, she could not ignore the way she ached with a very real need.

Swallowing against a suddenly dry throat, she hooked her thumbs underneath his jaw and forced his head up, eyeing the sharp planes of his face. Her fingers swept over his cheek, where it was already starting to swell. “You’ll have bruising here.” Hoarse and raspy, she didn’t recognize the sound of her own voice. “They got you pretty good.” When he didn’t answer immediately, she smiled. “Should have seen the other guys, hm?”

“Nah,” he said and it took a concerted effort not to close her eyes when his brogue hit her straight in the gut. “I surprised them, but they were bigger.”

Snapping off the gloves, she pressed the cool skin of her palm to his cheek. His eyes drifted shut for a minute as he leaned into her touch. “I think you’ll be fine,” she whispered. The intimacy of the moment was not lost on her and as his eyes fluttered open, she felt like she had to say something else. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

“Are you?” he said. He did a visual inspection and she wondered what she would have to do to get him to check her with her hands; she wondered why she thought she was allowed to want that.

“I’m fine. I’m…I’m fine. I’m the Slayer.” Her words came out apologetically, almost sad. And she was sorry, sorry for being the Slayer. Sorry that she wasn’t everything that the role needed her to be, that she hadn’t and wouldn’t ever be enough. Sorry that that wasn’t as important to her as the fact that she was sorry that she wasn’t allowed to have what she wanted most in the world right now: him.

His hand came up to stroke against her cheek. She couldn’t help but close her eyes as he ran his fingers through her hair; they fluttered shut of their own accord at the tenderness of his caress. “I just want to make sure you’re alright,” he murmured. The words were low and deep and she nodded as his hand slipped down to hold the back of her neck.

When his other hand settled at her side, rubbing gently, she let out a breathy whimper. The feeling of his hands on her made it feel like her body was awakening from a long sleep, coming alive once more under his touch. Closing the gap of the few inches of space between them, she found herself pressed against the edge of the table between his legs.

Her breathing quickened, or maybe that was his because she thought she might be holding her breath as he leaned in and kissed a small bruise on her shoulder that she hadn’t even realized existed. It had already begun to fade, but suddenly it was the only part of her body she could feel and the sensation of his lips on her skin repeated in her mind like an endless loop of déjà vu. His thumb stroked over the spot as she tried not to tremble. “They didn’t hurt you?” She shook her head in lieu of words. “You’re okay?”

For a moment the question hung over her and she stared at him: his bare chest heaving, his eyes shining even in the dim light of his apartment, his cheek already a spectacular showing of black and blue. “No,” she said hoarsely, shaking her head. “I’m not okay.” Careful of his bruising, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled herself to him, kissing him solidly.

Instantly, he sank into the kiss, his mouth firm and insistent. All of the heat that had been building up inside of her erupted and she felt overwhelmed by the heat that flared in her body. The fire burned throughout her veins as she kissed him harder, her mouth seared to his. His grip on her waist, the small groan at the back of his throat, the way his thighs tightened around her legs, these were all oxygen to the flame. She had never been so eager to be consumed.

She ran her tongue along his bottom lip, then licked inside his mouth when he gave her passage. She wanted to taste him and let him overtake all five of her senses. One of his hands cupped her face, tilting her just right so that he could kiss her deeply. His other arm wrapped around her waist and as they both struggled for her to sit closer to him, she was lifted right out of her shoes.

Instinct and natural grace helped her rise onto the table where she straddled him. Fitz gasped into her mouth as her body came flush against his. He couldn’t seem to help himself from placing his hands on her legs, tracing up the pale skin to where her dress bunched at the top of her thighs. Unable to stop herself, she rolled her hips into his, desperate for relief. As his fingers dug into her supple skin, he bit her bottom lip, hissing out the passion that she had only ignited further.

Jemma did it again, slower this time, savoring the ebb and flow of her body against his. Fitz cursed against her shoulder before his lips came to her neck. The rasp of his tongue quickly identified her pulse and she quivered under the almost clinical way he sought to leave his mark on her, dark and red on her neck like his own brand.

Seeking out his mouth, she kissed him again, savoring the thrills that surged within her at every brush of his lips against hers. He sucked on her tongue and she sighed, pulling back to nip at his bottom lip. His hands slid down her sides and cupped her ass. When he pulled her against him, her eyes squeezed shut. She wanted to ride out the passion building inside of her, to ride him.

As she licked at his neck, feeling his pulse jump under her tongue, he moved to the edge of the table. Jemma didn’t protest when he gently set her down on the ground. His hands on her hips and his mouth on hers guided her slowly towards the short hall that led to his bedroom and if her heart was capable of beating any faster, it would.

She wanted to hurry towards his room, but was far more distracted by his lips on hers, the way he stopped to press her against the wall. His teeth ran across her neck and throat, and for just a moment she regained a bit of her sanity. Guilt flooded her and she clung to him as she panted. “Fitz, Fiiitz… We can’t…we shouldn’t…” she protested, even as she tangled her hands through her hair, encouraging him to suck at her skin.

He pulled away, the lust in his eyes overwhelming as he stared at her. “I don’t care.” This time when he kissed her, she kissed back with overwhelming fervor, practically dragging him to his room. “Don’t care, don’t care, don’t care.”

When they made it past the threshold, Jemma pushed him against the closest wall. It was more forceful than she intended, but Fitz didn’t even seem to notice. Perhaps he was too breathless to realize the air had been knocked out of him. He tugged her bottom lip between his teeth as her hands worked furiously at the button of his jeans. Once successful, she placed one small kiss on his Adam’s apple before sinking to her knees.

His jeans and boxers came down together and somewhere along the way, he too had lost his shoes. Arousal swirled within her as she stared as his cock laying hard against his stomach. Her mouth was watering just looking at it, the visual sending a pulse of heat to her core. Resting her head against his hip, she moaned; his cock twitched at the sound.

She had to get her hands on it, wrapping one gently around the base. Above her, Fitz grunted, and was filled with joy knowing he was getting pleasure from her actions. She stroked him a few times, getting used to his length and width. She rubbed her thighs together, excited by the very prospect of having him inside of her.

Opening her lips wide to accommodate him, she sucked him into her mouth. A gasp was ripped out of his throat, and she could see his chest heave through lidded eyes. Determined, she eased him back into her mouth as far as she could go before slowly pulling out. When she glanced up again, his face was red, his hands white from being clenched into tight fists.

Her hands on his legs, she bobbed her head decisively, each motion purposeful as she drew him in and out of her mouth. She alternated the suction, listening for his moans and grunts to tell her what he liked best. She drew her tongue over the bottom and the head, lapping at it like a sucker. She took it out of her mouth and lightly blew air over it as she pumped it with her hand, watching the way his knees shook.

When she returned him to her mouth, she quickened the pace. The firm weight of steel under velvet flesh on her tongue was what she had been waiting for for longer than she would allow herself to admit. Every time she took him deep within her mouth, she felt a thrill of lust run up her spine and she had no plans on stopping until he was done.

What she wanted was for him to stop holding back. His hands were still at his sides in tight fists, as if he was scared to touch her. There was times when she could tell he was holding back from jerking his hips and that wasn’t what she desired from him. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t take it and she wanted to take everything from him.

Wrapping her arms around him, she placed both hands and his ass—and what an ass it was—to encourage him to thrust inside her mouth. It took him a moment to really understand, but once he did, she hummed around him in happiness. His hand came down to cup her head as he thrust quickly, stroking her hair as his cock stroked through her mouth. She wanted to feel it in the back of her throat, wanted to be sore the next day from something good for once.

When his hand tightened in her hair, drawing her head back so she was looking him in the eye as he fucked her mouth, she knew he was getting close. Though no less deep, his thrusts were starting to become erratic and she could see the end approaching clear on his face. Fitz was biting his bottom lip, eyes dark and focused on her, on the visual of his cock entering her mouth.

“J-Jemma,” he said suddenly, his grip tightening once again. It would have been painful on anyone but her, but she thrived under his touch. “Jemma, I’m gonna—”

He seemed to be warning her in case she wanted to pull away and she might have, if that’s what he wanted. She would have been more than happy to let him come on her, paint her with it, but she was still wearing Skye’s dress. Instead, she tightened her mouth around him, taking him deep in her mouth as he came. She swallowed around him, drinking him down as he pulsed down her throat, the sounds of he was making in the midst of his orgasm making her almost dizzy with need.

After letting him drop from her mouth, she cleaned him up with her tongue. When she climbed back to her feet, his lips were on hers and she wondered how she could have waited so long. At this moment, she couldn’t think of how any responsibility or duty could be more important than the feeling of Fitz’s body against hers.

He pushed himself off from the wall, walking her backward until she allowed herself to fall back onto his bed. She inched up until she was fully pillowed by the mattress, giggling as he followed her. Drawing his face into her hands, she pulled him down for a kiss, letting her lips caress his slowly. She was determined to draw out more of the moans she had already become addicted to hearing.

One of his hands settled on her hip, his long fingers stroking her skin. She sighed against his lips as his hand brushed against the bottom of her rib cage. He seemed to be measuring her breaths, in and out, and she couldn’t help the way her chest heaved with each inhale; she felt completely breathless, as if her lungs weren’t meant to take in so much of him, yet continued to demand more.

His other hand on her neck tilted her head just right for him to kiss at the tender skin there. Jemma whimpered as his lips and teeth nipped across her throat, down her collarbone, around her shoulder. Wriggling uselessly, she tossed her head to the side, panting against his blanket as his hot breath caused goosebumps to erupt across her skin.

Having mapped out her hips and stomach with his fingers, undoubtedly committing the surface to memory, the tips of Fitz’s fingers grazed the outer edge of her thigh. She whined, tugging on his hair so that she could bite his bottom lip in response. He seemed to appreciate that, moving his fingers steadily inward until he was stroking his hand along her inner thighs. The kiss she responded with was passionately, teeth hitting teeth, tongues intertwining.

She continued to kiss him until his fingers pressed against the thin material of her underwear, pressing the already wet material against her center. “Fitz!” she cried, her nails digging into his back. As she rolled her body into his hand, desperate for the pressure of his touch, his chest rubbed against hers, the silk of her bra gliding against his skin.

“Fitz, please,” she groaned into his neck.

Dotting kisses across her chest, Fitz removed his hand. Jemma wondered if he only did it to hear her groan of disappointment and she stared at him with wide eyes. Just when she thought that he was going to tease her into an early grave, his middle finger traced the elastic of her underwear, then ducked underneath. Her heart seized in her chest as his hand slipped into her underwear. Panting, she felt otherwise motionless as he explored her, gliding his fingers through her wetness.

His index and middle finger grazed over her clit and she thought she might buck off the bed. Twisting a hand into the blanket in order to retain her self-control, she stared up at the ceiling, knowing she wouldn’t be able to handle seeing the lustful look on his face while feeling his fingers on her.

He pressed harder, rubbing her in a slow circle as she moaned. His touch was electric and she could feel the currents of pleasure run through her body, causing her eyes to squeeze shut and her nipples to tighten. When she had thought of this—and she had, many times, in her bed, in her shower, alone with only her fantasies—she had expected his intimate touch to be as good as his professional one. She hadn’t foreseen it to be like this, for him to manipulate her body so thoroughly with the slightest touch.

When he increased the pressure, she responded instinctively, vocally voicing her pleasure as she rocked her hips up to meet his hand. “Is this what you like?” he said and she had to throw her arm over her face and bite her inner cheek at the sound of his voice, low and deep. It hit the deepest, most carnal parts of her.

Nodding into her arm, she choked out, “More.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Slipping his fingers down through her folds, he kissed her shoulder as she whimpered. The feeling of him pushing the first finger inside of her was so powerful, it startled her into opening her eyes. She stared right into his, the dark blue seeming to tear through her soul with the intensity of the feelings he was harboring.

As he thrust his finger in and out of her, she demanded a kiss from him. Jemma pressed her lips against his over and over, only falling back against the bed when he inserted a second finger, spreading her wider. Overwhelmed by the feeling of two of his fingers stretching her, touching her in ways that only she had touched herself in so long, Jemma ran her hand through his hair, murmuring his name under her breath. Fitz kissed her cheek several times before nuzzling behind her ear.

She could feel her pleasure rising to levels that were unmaintainable, but still she sought out more. Rocking her hips against his hand, she chased the feeling. Seeming to sense her desperation, he ground the heel of his palm into her clit, sparking desire deep within her. She clung to that feeling, riding it higher and higher, until her orgasm hit her with force that shook her in ways she couldn’t remember ever feeling.

Fitz’s other hand held her side as she shuddered through the pleasure, letting it roll through her in waves. His lips caressed her jaw and he continued to work his fingers in her until she turned to him, lips seeking him out for a kiss. Stilling inside of her, he kissed her gently as he pulled out of her. Jemma couldn’t help but duck her head in silent shame as she realized that he had gotten _her_ off before she had even gotten her bra and underwear off.

His dry hand brushed a few pieces of hair back from her face, stuck to her sweat damp forehead. Jemma wiggled out of her now soaked underwear, kicking them off the bed and onto the floor. Despite the fact that he had just fingered her to orgasm, her suddenly naked lower half was enough to distract Fitz and he blatantly stared at her.

Smiling to himself at his open longing, Jemma picked up his hand, still sticky from being between her legs and ran her tongue around his index finger. Instantly his eyes snapped up to hers and her chest burst with arousal at how wide and dark his eyes were. She sucked two of his fingers into her mouth, running her tongue between them. Jemma had never had a particular fondness for her own taste before, but it was different off of his fingers, heightened by the way he stared at her open-mouthed, his hot breath ghosting over her skin as he panted.

Once she had finished with his hand, he dove in to kiss her, as if he could lick the remains of her from her own lips. She kissed him back with equal fervor, wrapping her body around him and holding him close. It didn’t occur to her that he was unhooking her bra until he was tugging it off of her, leaving them both bare for the first time, laying skin to skin.

As she kissed him, his hands wandered across her bare chest, seeking and finding her breasts. She couldn’t blame him, only encouraged him with her smiles and soft moans. He handled them gently, palming them and running his thumbs over her hard nipples. They shared languid kisses as he massaged the pliant flesh, molding it in his grasp and she adored every second of it.

Suddenly breaking away from her mouth, he ran his tongue over her nipple. It was as if he couldn’t wait another second to get his lips on her breasts, and she understood that, had the same feelings when it came to him. His teeth played upon the skin. Jemma threaded her fingers through his hair, encouraging him to bite, suck, to mark her with his mouth. He pressed his hips against her leg as he did so and she could feel the steady hardening of his dick again.

He went from sucking hard on her nipple, drawing it up between his teeth and laving it with his tongue, to kissing down her sternum and over her hips. Her stomach twisted in anticipation as his breath ghosted over her core; apparently, tasting her from her own lips wasn’t enough for him.

Fitz started on her thighs, licking up the juices that had been spread earlier. Then he moved up, opening his mouth and tasting all of her at once. Jemma groaned, trying to force herself not to move in case he stopped. That seemed to be an unfounded fear, as he swiped his tongue up and down her folds, circling her clit, dipping inside of her. When he sucked on her clit, she clung to the bed so hard, she worried that she might tear the fabric. Her hips undulated to meet the rhythm of his tongue until he held tight to her hips, holding her still so that he could work as he pleased.

Even knowing that her hips were stronger than his arms, Jemma fought to keep still as per his unspoken request. As he thrust his tongue inside of her, she found herself babbling wildly. “Please, Fitz, please. I need—I need you, Fitz. Please, just, god. Fuck me, Fitz!”

Her plea seemed to inspire him into action, as he sat up and kissed her passionately. It was odd to Jemma to realize that she tasted even better from his tongue than she did on his fingers, but she supposed that anything would taste better on Fitz.  After pressing a bruising kiss to her lips, he slid off the bed, fumbling through his dresser.

Watching him slide the condom on his erection sent a thrill up her spine and she climbed to her knees to wrap her arms around his shoulders, kissing him deeply. Without breaking the kiss, he joined her, holding her hips gently as his dick pressed against his stomach. She shuddered with yearning that seared deep within her as she reminder herself that he’d finally be in her soon.

Easing herself down to the bed, she marveled at the perfect way he fit between her legs. Fitz stroked her cheek with his thumb as he entered her, his face a picture of awe as he sank deep within her. There was no hesitation, no more waiting for either of them as he thrust into her with powerful strokes. Jemma ran her hands up and down his back, savoring the softness of his skin over the strength of his muscles as he held himself above her.

She leaned up to kiss his neck, his chin, the underside of his jaw as he fucked her with smooth strokes. It was impossible for her to keep her hands and mouth to herself, wanting every part of her to become part of him as her body sang with pleasure. When he leaned his head down for a kiss, she immediately obliged, licking into his mouth and swallowing his pants and gasps.

Lifting one of his hands off the mattress, he squeezed her breast, pinching at her nipple. Jemma tightened her legs around his waist, urging him in deeper as she arched her chest up towards his hand. As if to do her one better, he leaned in to wrap his mouth against her other breast, sucking hard. She was breathless and hopeless against the sudden onslaught of pleasure, grabbing the pillow behind her head because she was sure his body could not handle the strength with which she wanted to hold him.

When he pulled away, her eyes fell to his lips, which were red and swollen. Unable to help herself, she kissed him softly there, then across his face, his neck, the hollow of his throat. As he thrust up faster into her, she kissed ever so gently around the bandage across his chest, then pressed her face against his sternum.

Fitz’s hand tightened on her hip and she was surprised when he sat back, only to adjust her leg up on his shoulder. The different position proved effective, hitting spots inside of her that she barely knew existed. His grunts were a mix of effort and pleasure and the sound was almost as good as the feeling of his fingers digging into her thigh as he pushed harder inside of her.

Her eyes rolled back into her head as he pounded into her, overwhelmed by the sensation as he stretched her. He forced himself as deep as he could go inside of her, his hipbone pressing against her clit on every inner thrust. Wrapping her loose leg around his ass, she encouraged him for more, groaning deep in her chest. He seemed mesmerized by the image of his dick sinking inside her and she was just as enthralled by the beauty of his awestruck face.

She could tell he was getting close to completion, and she wanted to feel it, to take control. Pressing softly against his chest, she guided him on to his back. Once she had securely straddled him, she sank down and took him inside of her again, the sweet fullness sending her scratching at his abs.

As she bounced up and down on top of him, his eyes and then hands were immediately focused on her breasts. He manipulated them expertly as she drove both of them closer to orgasm, her quick rhythm inspiring her bursts of pleasure throughout her body. It was a sight she planned to commit to memory and recall for the rest of her life: Fitz spread out under her, his eyes wild with lust, his hair tousled from her fingers, cheeks pink, lips swollen from her kisses. Perhaps it was the only thing she ever needed to see again.

His hands smoothed down her sides, tightly gripping her hips as he thrust up to meet her. Now she could tell that he was at his end, his fingers creating grooves in her sides as his hips stuttered mercilessly. She tried to maintain her rhythm, but found herself impossibly distracted by his moans and gasps, the way he licked his lips before he pushed into her one last time.

When he came, he shouted her name. Fitz held her tightly as he pulsed inside of her, his head thrown back, contorted in what was obviously overwhelming pleasure. He clung to her, thrusting over and over again as she continued to ride him. She couldn’t help herself from allowing her fingers to trace the red flush that extended down his neck to his chest. This, she decided, Fitz losing himself to lust and joy, sensation overtaking reason, this was the only thing she needed to see for the rest of her life.

Despite the utter delight it caused her to watch him reach his peak, she was still in search of her own. Holding on to the wooden headboard above him, she used it at leverage to move over him harder, faster. As Fitz came back to himself, he aided in her plan, continuing to push himself inside of her.

Jemma closed her eyes as she struggled to focus on the sensations, on the feeling of him still inside her, of his hands on her body. He shifted slightly to lean up and lick at her breasts, teasing the sensitive skin and she shuddered. With one hand on the back of his head and the other holding the headboard, she chased the bliss that was already rising within her.

As she soared over the edge of her orgasm, she felt weightless, shaking from the ultimate ecstasy. Fitz’s hands on her back supported her as she rode him hard, letting each aftershock pulse through her just as intense and soul-shattering as the first. There was a crack as the wood of the headboard splintered under her grip, but she was too far gone to care. She felt like she had been waiting for this for months, just on the brink, and now that she was there it might go on forever.

When she finally settled down on Fitz’s chest, her head pillowed on his good shoulder, she panted heavily. She moved up and down with his own deep breaths, his hands tangled in her hair as he stroked her head and back. For long, long minutes, words completely failed her, her body using all of her resources to recover from the world-shattering orgasm.

Fitz kissed her softly and she instantly responded, brushing her lips against his. The joy of being held by him was incomparable and she only protested a bit when he got up to discard the condom. Upon return, he shuffled them into an even more comfortable position with no space between them as she made herself at home in his bed and in his arms.

“That was amazing,” she murmured once her faculties had come back to her, kissing his neck.

He shook his head, obviously still in disbelief. “That’s an understatement.”

Jemma twisted her legs between his, hoping that he would understand that she had no plans to go anywhere. Smiling at her, Fitz kissed the top of her head. As his eyes drifted upward, she felt herself turn pink even though she followed his gaze.

Above them, there was a large crack in the headboard; it had practically been split in two. She wouldn’t have been surprised to find splinters among the pillow. When Fitz raised an eyebrow at her, she shrugged demurely, nuzzling her face into his neck to hide her smile. It was, she thought, better the headboard than him. He was much more fragile. Still he kissed the top of her hair and stroked her back; after everything, she didn’t think he could be too upset.

“Next time, we break your bed.”


End file.
